


Sketches of Falling and Flying

by AndInThoseMoments



Series: Of A Feather [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Bigotry & Prejudice, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndInThoseMoments/pseuds/AndInThoseMoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve arrives at the orphanage at 11, still believing himself to be an angel.  Such childish thoughts are soon beaten out of him, but the friend he makes keeps him strong.  As they grow, and Steve and Bucky become lovers, things pass more smoothly for them.  Until Steve's secret is discovered, and Bucky goes to sign up for the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: Child abuse, descriptions of violence and injury, references to alcohol abuse, death of a parent, institutionalised prejudice and violence because of it, mentions of suicide by incredibly minor characters and suicidal thoughts.  
> Warnings: this loosely follows the plot of Captain America and so does not end well for either of the boys. At one point a seventeen year old and an eighteen year old kiss, however nothing sexual happens until they are both over eighteen.  
> Disclaimer: At some points later in the fic, the dialogue is copied from the Captain America film as I wanted to cover the same events.
> 
>  
> 
> Wonderful fanart linked to at the bottom of this chapter.

1935 – Age 16  
Steve snuck up the stairs once the lights had been put out, careful to jump over the third and seventh steps - they creaked loud enough to wake the dead, let alone the nuns that were asleep nearby. He’d learned that the hard way.

He crept up to the very top of the attic stairs, glancing back into the darkness to make sure no one had followed him and then tapping once on the doorframe, still cautious of making too much noise. The door creaked open, and he stepped inside, letting his friend close the door behind him.

He couldn't see inside the room yet, as even the corridor outside was better lit than this. It would take a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, the only light filtered through the uncovered window and penetrating a thick layer of grime. But gradually he became able to make out the vague shape of Bucky's bed, of the box where he kept his few possessions. He knew the layout inside out anyway, because this was his favourite place in the world. This was Bucky's room, for now.

Tomorrow morning, Bucky would be leaving the orphanage and going to start a new life. As the second oldest boy in the home, it would be Steve's room by tomorrow afternoon.

Steve coughed, covering his mouth with both hands to try and stop the noise escaping. He was always in trouble here, always the one to draw the worst sort of attention. He wasn’t meant to be here now either, but he had to see Bucky, had to say goodbye. Bucky was the only guy who’d been decent to him. Ever since Steve had arrived, he'd been different, and he'd needed punishment for that. At those thoughts, his back began to sting once more, and he swallowed back tears. Even after five years, the pain was still great.

"Chin up..." Bucky had managed to close the door now, and moved the box into its path, stopping anyone else from coming in. Even if the nuns heard them now, they had some privacy. He made his way over to the bed and laid down, holding his arms out to Steve. "It's not that bad."

Steve shrugged, climbing in beside him and closing his eyes. Bucky was right, it wasn’t so bad when Bucky was there. He felt safe in Bucky's arms. Ever since he had arrived here, it had been Bucky that had stood up for him, who cared about him and made sure that he was safe. It was Bucky who had kept him strong, who had stolen food and medicine for him when he needed it, who had taken the blame so many times to spare Steve another beating. It was only Bucky that really cared if he survived or not.

"I don't want you to go..." He whispered between coughs. Ruffling Steve’s hair, Bucky shook his head, his voice fond.  
"I don't want to go either Stevie, but I gotta. They can’t keep me here forever. And I got a job, you know that. That little shop just down the road. Maybe I'll even be able to get my hands on some sweets for you huh? That'd be good. You’ll make me spend all my money on you, you little punk." 

Steve nodded, squirming his way down the mattress so his head was resting on Bucky's chest. Bucky found the old scars on his shoulders, and ran his fingers over the ridges in a way that helped Steve to relax. Steve closed his eyes as more coughs escaped, muffling them with both hands. He tried to concentrate on how gently Bucky rubbed his back, on the scent of his body and the steady beat of his heart.   
"I know Buck... 's just, well..." He flinched a little, thinking of the man his mother had had a relationship when he was young. He’d been a drinker and a violent man, but one that Steve had been fond of. He'd been too young to understand why they kept arguing, and when he'd left, it had just added to the certainty Steve had that he was cursed. Then he'd lost his mother, and now Bucky... "Everyone I care about leaves me."

"I aint gonna leave you Stevie. Someone needs to keep an eye on you; God knows you'd get yourself in trouble if I didn't. 'S just for a few months. Til you finish school and find a job. Then we'll get a room together right? We'll share a room in a boarding house and it'll be alright, cos I'm gonna keep an eye on you."

Steve nodded, and he yawned again. Bucky was his best friend, had been since the day five years ago when he had first arrived, and now he was losing him. It scared him. But the knowledge that Bucky was here for now soothed him, and the arms around him meant that he could relax.  
"Just get some sleep Stevie. I'll wake you up before I go, alright? I'm not going to just run out on you."

Steve nodded and closed his eyes.

It wasn't a good night for him. It never was, not when he was worried. It made his breathing worse, and anyway, winter was on its way. That cold was part of the reason he had sought out Bucky's company so often. None of the staff at the orphanage liked him enough to give him an extra blanket, and with the temperature as low as it was tonight, he was going to suffer from it.

But tonight, it wasn't the cold that plagued him, or the latest cough that had burrowed deep into his lungs. Tonight, he was haunted by his memories and the knowledge that soon, Bucky would be gone for good.

Steve had been a happy boy when he was young, despite the fact he often got sick. His mother might not have been rich, but she had always made him feel loved, and he had been brought up to believe that there were other things which mattered more than health and money. His mother had always made sure he had enough to eat, even when she had to go hungry herself, and for as long as he could remember, he had run errands for the neighbours on the days he was healthy enough to walk about, in order to earn a few extra cents. With him doing what he could, and her working long days in the hospital, they could survive. They had no luxuries, but they just about scraped by.

His mother had loved him. Even now, aged sixteen and having lost her five years ago, he didn't doubt that for a moment. She had never treated him like a freak or a burden, even though he knew now that he had been. The nuns had taught him that, but in his innocence he had never known.

That had changed when he had come here. The nuns had taught him that he was unnatural, and immoral, and sinful. That he was hated, and should be hated. That he was cursed. The wings on his back, whose soft white feathers had provided such comfort when his mother had run her fingers through them, were a sign that he should be despised, and he had never known.

He'd been eleven when he'd come to the orphanage, lost and more alone than he had ever been, and it hadn't made sense. He had known back then that very few people had wings of any kind. The few other men he had seen with them had been those begging on the streets, or the youths at the boarding house over the road who would get visitors at all times of the night and drank heavily. But he hadn't known back then that having wings made you bad.

His mother had called him her little angel, her good luck charm. It didn't matter what was happening, how bad things got. He was her little angel and she loved him, and he had thought that was true, that it was actually what he was. That the wings had meant he was special. He had been proud of them. Now, that thought made him feel sick.

Sometimes the other kids had called him names, but he'd ignored them. They hadn't liked him, and he couldn't join in their games due to his poor health. He refused to let them upset him. He wanted to do well.

The man his mother had become involved with had called him names too. Sometimes those names had been accompanied by fists, when the scent of alcohol on the man's breath was particularly strong. After those nights his mother would yell and cradle Steve, and promise he had done nothing wrong. Eventually the man left, taking what little jewellery his mother had with him. But the two of them had carried on.

They had carried on through cold winters and long bouts of sickness, until his mother had been the one to fall ill. Cruelly, whilst Steve had always recovered eventually, his mother's condition had simply worsened. She had cried in front of him for the first time, and held him close, apologising and worrying he’d catch her illness. He'd just kept telling her he loved her.

"Never forget that you deserve to be loved Stevie. You're a good boy, and a good son. Sweet dreams my little angel." She'd whispered that to him one night, when he was beginning to fall asleep, and the next morning he had woken to find her body cold in the bed beside him, her eyes no longer lit by life.

There had been nowhere for him to go but the orphanage. The two uncles he had held no interest in a sickly boy like him, not when they had little money themselves. Not when he had wings. So he had come to Our Lady's Orphanage, small for his age, carrying a handful of letters from his mother, a pencil, and a few sheets of paper he was drawing on. He had no photographs of her, and only a couple of changes of clothes. It was all he owned in the world.

Steve groaned in his sleep, turning over and burrowing into Bucky's side. An arm slung around his back, rubbing a thumb over his shoulder blade and he quieted a little.

The nuns had not been pleased to see him. Naive child that he was, it hadn't even occurred to him to try and hide his wings. He’d been too busy clutching his letters to his chest, worrying about keeping his precious possessions safe. The sister who had greeted him would have been pretty if she smiled, but her eyes were hard and her lips too thin for her rounded face. She looked him up and down, and shook her head, muttering under her breath.   
"Those'll have to go." Steve had clutched his pieces of paper closer, frightened they would be taken from him. He hadn’t learned until later that her name was Sister Tabitha, but within a few months the name would be burned into his memory so that he could never forget.

He'd been shown to a small room, with five beds crammed into it. They were so close together you had to crawl across the first ones to get to those further in, and the room was draughty and cold. There were four other boys around his age, who were all already close friends. Steve was up against an outside wall on the far bed and within three days, the poor food and horrible weather had made him sick - a bad chest cold that lead to him coughing all hours of the day and night.

The other boys didn’t like him. They wouldn’t talk to him, busy among themselves and in a pre-existing group. He was on the outside looking at them, with no way in. He sat alone at meals and in class, then returned to a cold bed and coughed his way through the night.

"You wanna swap beds?" Another one of the boys had asked on the fourth day. It was the brunet in the bed next to him, a year older than Steve himself at twelve. Steve hadn't really talked to anyone yet, but he'd watched them – he always watched, and he knew this one. This was the boy that the nuns called James and the other boys called Bucky. A rowdy boy with a bunch of brothers, and a sister lost somewhere in a girls home. He was a joker, always in trouble but never badly enough for anything to stick. Steve was nervous around him, but Bucky either hadn't noticed or didn't care.

Steve hesitated. He wasn’t sure what his mother would have made of the boy, as he was naughty, but maybe she would have wanted him to have friends. He knew she wouldn’t want him to be somewhere that’d make him ill.

"You'll get sick." Steve muttered, knowing that his bed was the worst of the lot. That was why he’d been given it  
"You're already gonna keep me awake with your coughing, might as well see if we can swap. Might mean the lot of us get some sleep. I'm Bucky." A grubby hand was thrust out at him, and Steve shook it.  
"Steve."   
"Good to meet you Steve. Now budge over and get some sleep, we got class in the morning."

Steve had moved along to the next bed. Here, the chill breeze wasn't quite so harsh, and if he cocooned himself in a blanket it didn't hurt to breathe. Bucky patted his shoulder, and Steve had closed his eyes and gone to sleep, smiling a little at the thought of the fact he had a friend.

He had slept peacefully for the first time since he had arrived with Bucky lying next to him. It felt like he was safe. He woke at the sound of the bell to call them to prayer, and filed into line with the other boys, to wash and then go to pray. Bucky reappeared next to him in the line for breakfast. He grinned at him, a cheeky smile which had been new to Steve then, but in time would become as familiar as breathing.

"Hey Steve..."  
A sudden wave of coughing had overtaken Steve, robbing him of the ability to speak and leaving him nodding helplessly.

Bucky patted him on the back, and paused.  
"Come sit with me."

Steve glanced over at the table of Barnes boys - there were four of them, not including Bucky. The youngest of the boys was six, and the oldest was fifteen, which to Steve felt very old indeed. They were all already there, laughing and joking and being loud. Steve nibbled his lip, slightly scared of such a big family. Bucky followed his gaze.  
"Oh, we don't gotta sit with them." Bucky promised. "We can sit just us while you eat, and then you can come over to my brothers for lunch, okay?"

Steve nodded, a little overwhelmed by it all. Bucky guided him over to a spare seat, and sat with him. Steve began to eat, hungry, trying to ignore the size of the portion in his bowl.   
"Hey, Steve, your portion is a lot smaller than mine." Bucky pointed out, pushing some of the porridge into Steve's bowl with the back of a spoon. "There you go..."

"Thanks." Steve whispered reverentially, picking up some of the weak porridge with a spoon and bringing it to his lips. He was stunned by Bucky's kindness. It was something new to him. No one had been kind since he’d lost his mother.

"'s fine. So..." Bucky looked past Steve's face, to the elegant white wings on his shoulders. "I never met anyone with wings before. Not to talk to."  
"I was just..." Steve shrugged, his wings stretching slightly, the feathers rustling as though they had a breeze ruffling through them. He felt proud, and he wanted to show them off. "Born with them."

"They... look wonderful... can you fly?"  
"A little..." Steve shook with a sudden burst of coughing. "It hurts though, sometimes. I should be able to. But I get sick."  
"You get sick a lot." Bucky answered, looking down at him. Steve shrugged.  
"I guess. But I tend to get better again after..."

Bucky nodded, his gaze still fixed on the white feathers which seemed to almost glow in the pale morning light.  
"They... they look real nice...Can I touch them?"  
"Sure." Steve answered, his wings stretching further. He was just so happy that he might be getting a friend. A friend who liked his wings, who didn't call him bad names. He stretched the feathers out, basking in the praise.

Bucky leaned over, reaching out with one hand to trace his fingers over the feathers, making Steve preen a little and tilt into the contact. It felt so nice to have his feathers touched with tenderness, not hate.

"What do you think you are doing?" Sister Jane snapped at them, making both boys jump. She looked down at them with ill-disguised disgust, her lip curled back a little. "Rogers. I expected better of you than corrupting Barnes."  
"I'm already corrupt." Bucky shot back, but she ignored him, grabbing Steve's wrist and pulling him away from Bucky, to the front of the hall. Then she had cleared her throat, drawing the attention of all of the other boys.

"Rogers here might be new, but newness does not excuse the way he has been behaving, the fact he has been corrupting those here. Anyone who tries to harm the other boys is punished, you all know that..." There was a chorus of agreement from the assembled boys, and Steve had tensed, not knowing where this was going but sure that it was going to hurt.

She had pulled a strip of wood from where it hung on the wall, and while the boys watched she had raised it. Steve had heard her saying something about counting to ten. He understood what was going to happen then, and took a deep breath to brace himself for the pain he expected to lance across his shoulders or his bottom. What he hadn't expected was the agony of the strip being brought down upon the top of his left wing, nearly knocking him off his feet. 

He had begun to scream, and the blow had been repeated. That time, he had felt the bone give way, heard the crack of it as the room swum from the agony of it all.

Steve startled awake, skin pale and clammy, panting for air as he sat up, trying to push the quilt off of him. Bucky sat up beside him, pulling him close once more.   
"Are you alright Steve?"

Steve shook his head, and Bucky held him tighter.

"What is it?"  
"My... My wings..." Steve gasped, glancing down in shame. It was five years since what had happened happened. There was no way they could still hurt, no source for the pain, but some nights he still felt it badly enough to scream. Bucky was the only one who knew, or who cared.

"Let me see..." Bucky said, something close to tenderness in his voice. When it was just the two of them, Bucky would let some of his exterior toughness slip. It was still there, just not so very obvious, replaced by an inner kindness. Steve moved to sitting up, undoing his blue and white striped shirt with trembling fingers. 

"You're shaking." Bucky informed him, batting his fingers away and taking over the job of slipping the buttons through the holes, pushing it down to expose a thin torso with ribs visible, Steve's shoulders sticking out at an awkward angle. "Bad dream?"  
"Yeh..." Steve closed his eyes, and didn't specify which memory it was that had caused the nightmare. If Bucky knew, he'd only end up blaming himself. Steve knew it hadn't been Bucky's fault. It would have happened regardless. They'd just been waiting for a reason. Since the nuns had first seen him they had regarded him as trouble, they both knew that. Just because they used Bucky as the reason, it didn't mean it was his fault.  
"Lay down." Bucky's voice was confident, and something about it always made Steve feel safe.

He moved to lie on his front, crossing his arms and resting his head on the top part of his arm, twisting a little to look up at Bucky. Bucky straddled him from behind, fingers starting off by exploring his neck and shoulders. 

Steve shivered a little, trying not to tense at the knowledge of what came next. The touch itself didn't hurt, it just awoke painful memories. He bit on his own lip to make sure he didn't whimper as Bucky's hands slid lower, onto his shoulder blades, then down the two thick stripes of scar tissue that ran from shoulder to mid back.

Steve shivered a little at that, knowing how it looked. Two thick bands, their meaning unmistakable, and crossed at multiple points by other thinner scars, the residue of particularly violent beatings that he had endured. He'd never forget that day.

1930 - Age 11  
He was a sickly child, even more so back then, thin and weak and subdued, but it had still taken four of the nuns to hold him down, to pin his arms and legs and try to stop him fighting. Another, Sister Jane, had been supervising. After all, she had been the one who had caught him and Bucky playing, had seen them lying in the grass together, Bucky's hands running over his wings, checking to see if they were healed. She was responsible for making sure that it was carried out properly.

Steve hadn't known until the moment the agony started, what was going to happen. When Sister Tabitha had stepped into sight holding a large knife, he had not known if she was planning to kill him. But she'd moved behind him, and one of her large hands had grabbed his left wing, pulling it out straight. He had heard Sister Jane begin to speak, heard her saying something about saving him from sin. Then it had started to hurt and he had begun to scream.

He'd thankfully passed out from the pain, and awoken a short while later, his body feeling unbalanced, his back unnaturally light. To start with, he thought that he'd been left alone, but then Sister Mary had approached, to clean his wounds and to stitch them, saving his life by stopping him from bleeding out. He'd made the mistake of looking down, and he had seen his two wings, his pride and joy, lying blood stained on the floor. The room had been spinning and all he had been able to think was that he wasn't his mother's little angel any more. 

He'd cried then, as she had stitched and bandaged, his tears broken only by the occasional whimper of pain. When it was over, Sister Mary had ruffled his pink-tinged hair, and handed him an apple, her eyes a little sad. She'd helped him stand, and he had staggered from the room, and into Bucky who had been sitting outside. 

Bucky took him back to their dorm, and had sat with him, Steve's head in his lap. Steve had been lying on his front to try and minimise the pain. Bucky's fingers traced through his hair, and he'd whispered to him, telling him stories that were only half-remembered but which soothed.

They'd both missed dinner that night. For the next couple of weeks, Bucky had worked hard, making sure that he did both his and Steve's chores, keeping Steve out of trouble as best as he could. The sisters had still disliked Steve, still criticised him and found every reason they could to hurt him, but it wasn't as bad as before.

It had been hard to walk to start with. Steve's body had felt unbalanced, unnatural. He was used to holding out his wings in order to walk with confidence, to avoid falling, but that option was lost to him now. 

"Hey." Bucky climbed up onto the table that Steve was sat at, hands behind him, grinning with something approaching mischief sparkling in his eyes.  
"Hey..." Steve echoed. His own voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. There was an emptiness building inside him which if left unchecked could have consumed him totally. But Bucky wouldn't allow for that.  
"You managed to walk around the whole garden earlier, back to normal speed too... I saw."  
"Didn't know you were watching."  
"Someone's got to keep an eye on you bird brain." Bucky answered. His hands were still held behind him and he had begun to wriggle slightly with excitement.

"What you got there Buck?"  
"Nothing..."  
"Go on, show me..." Steve pleaded, and Bucky hesitated only a moment longer before he pulled out from behind him a single pure white feather. He handed it over to Steve.  
"Saved it from the trash. Thought you better...thought you better hang onto it."  
Steve nodded, and reached for his copy of the bible, slipping it carefully inside the cover, where it remained.  
"Thanks..."

"Hey, Steve, don't you dare fall asleep on me..." Bucky poked his shoulder hard once the massage was over.  
"I thought you were meant to be keeping the nightmares away." Steve shot back with a grin.  
"Yeh, I am, but still, it's not great for my confidence when you fall asleep on me..." He said with a laugh then drew him close again. This time, Steve started to relax properly. The memories still hurt, but it had been five years now. He'd got used to the fact he couldn't fly, couldn't stretch his wings or feel the feathers being brushed. Most of the time, the memories didn't even bother him. It was just some nights, and then Bucky could chase it away.

Not allowing himself to think about the coming morning, the fact Bucky would be gone, Steve fell asleep.

He woke at the sound of the bell calling them awake, and he got up, shivering a little as he stretched, then made his way back to his dorm so that he could get clothes for the day. He found them, and washed in icy water with the rest of the boys. He heard Bucky deep in conversation with another group of boys, and smiled for him. He was glad. It was fantastic that Bucky had friends, even though at times it made him feel more on the outside than before. 

Then he went to pray, his bible with the concealed feather in his hand, before heading to breakfast. He sat next to Bucky and smiled, handing over some of Bucky's favourites. He knew what he liked, and today he felt Bucky deserved a treat. 

"Thanks Stevie."  
Steve shrugged and grinned, coughing in response, doubling over and gasping for air. He really hated winter, the way it ate into him and killed his immune system. If it was one of the other boys the nuns would probably have given him a break from chores, but Steve was different. He was often sick, and he had had wings. That meant he was worthless in their eyes. He knew that, and accepted it.

Still, he knew that when he left, no one in the outside world would know that he had had wings. At least there was that. The pain they had put him through for it had hurt but it was worth it. He realised that, even if he didn’t want it to be true. He gazed down at the table, fiddling with his cutlery.

Bucky reached out with one hand, rubbing the small of his back and then turning to his food.  
"Come on, eat."  
Steve finished his breakfast and then headed to clean the bathroom, scrubbing the floor, wiping away the dirt that had built up from the previous day. As he knelt, he started coughing once more, but he continued with his chores. He wasn't going to stop today. If he could get it done as quickly possible, it would mean more time with Bucky.

He stood up, gasping for air, and looked down at the floor. It gleamed back at him and he nodded in satisfaction, then headed out to the kitchen. Bucky normally raced through his chores and then stole some food for himself, so the kitchen was the best place to look for him.

Bucky was there, perched on a counter and watching one of the younger boys working at polishing the candlesticks, an apple passing from hand to hand.   
"Hey Stevie."  
"Hey..." Steve struggled up onto the worktop beside him. "You done?"  
"Done, dusted and out of here." Bucky agreed, watching as the younger boy finished the cleaning.  
"Well done Sammie. Here..." He threw over the apple. The boy caught it and walked off, leaving the two of them alone.

"I'm..." Steve started, then fell quiet, not knowing how to say he would miss him.   
"Yeh, me too." Bucky reached for him, squeezing his hand for a moment then releasing it. "But you'll see me soon, and when it's all done, well, you'll escape too, okay? Come and see me as soon as you can."

"I will." Steve answered, closing his eyes and resting his head on Bucky's shoulder. He reached into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a crumpled letter he had written a few nights ago in an attempt to tell Bucky how much he cared about him. Bucky took it with a nod, pocketing it in return. Then he heard the footsteps of someone approaching and moved away. He couldn't risk getting caught like that. Even once Bucky was gone, he would still be there, and he could get into trouble. He hated that it mattered, but Bucky had told him to be careful. He got told off enough for just existing.

Bucky nodded in approval, and turned to the nun that had arrived, confirming to Sister Jane that he was packed and ready to go. Then he said the rest of his goodbyes. Steve went to class when he was told, and lost the opportunity to watch Bucky's retreat down the road and out of the orphanage where they had both lived for the last half a decade.


	2. Chapter 2

1935 - Age 16  
It had been several weeks since Bucky had moved out, and Steve's life had deteriorated. He missed his best friend constantly, but that wasn't the only problem. He found he had more chores than before, and that no one was on his side. Steve didn't mind the lack of protection, he was able to fight his own corner. What he missed having was someone that he could sit with in order to lick his wounds. 

It wasn't long before he could leave the home and join Bucky. That thought was the one thing that kept Steve alive, kept him smiling even as he scrubbed floors and washed up plates. Every night he would curl up in the bed that had been Bucky's, tangling himself in the sheets and remembering how it had felt when Bucky was there. Nightmares came to him worse now, often about the day that he had lost his wings. He told himself it would be alright, but the only thing that he found eased the nightmares was to curl up in the space Bucky’s body had left and persuade himself that the bed still smelt of him. 

It was working for now but he wasn't sure how long it was going to last. Every day, the scent of Bucky's body faded and the memory of his touch became more distant. Steve realised he had to try and visit him. It wasn't like he had permission to leave the orphanage (that was a special treat, reserved only for the best behaved boys), but he needed to see Bucky. He had waited for long enough.

He knew where the house was. Bucky had written to him with directions as soon as he had found a place. All Steve had to do was get there. He clung to his letter, the simple directions, following them until he stopped outside a rundown boarding house. Across the street, a boy his age was lounging against a lamp post smoking. His grey wings caught the morning light, and glittered a strange silver. Steve couldn't look away. 

"You want something?" The boy called, straightening up slightly. Steve shook his head rapidly and raced into the building, feeling his face burning fiercely from embarrassment. 

The inside of the building was no better than its cracked and crumbling exterior. The corridors were dark and smelt strongly of mould, with a faint undercurrent of urine. He couldn't imagine that Bucky was staying here, even wondered if he'd got the address wrong. But he would follow the instructions through to the end. He owed Bucky at least that. He felt afraid, but he refused to back down.

The steps creaked as he trod on them, carefully feeling his way along the corridor until he reached the third door along, and knocked, feeling the warped wood beneath his knuckles. There was a moment where he wondered if his knock would be unanswered, and then the door opened to reveal Bucky standing there, a cocky grin on his face, very much the same as he had always been.

Bucky ushered him inside, and Steve followed reluctantly. He relaxed a moment later when he saw what the room was like. It might have been small, but it was clean enough, and Bucky had the letter Steve had given him the morning of his departure propped up on the one shelf, alongside a pile of comics. Steve rolled his eyes but perched on the end of the bed.  
"Nice place you got here."  
"It's a roof over my head, and as long as I pay the bills, no one asks any questions."

Steve nodded, breathing in deeply and gasping as the spores of mould hit the back of his throat. He began to cough, choking viciously. Bucky raced over, thumping his back until the coughs subsided into gasps and then gently rubbing his shoulders.  
"You don't like it huh?"  
"I can cope..." Steve lied. He would rather live here and struggle with every breath he took than go back and be alone.  
"I know, but you shouldn't have to cope. Don't worry buddy. By the time you move out I'm going to have something better, this is just so I can save up a bit of money."

"You still want to live with me then?" Steve asked, unable to keep the slight tremble of fear from his voice. He wanted to sound like he didn't care, but he did. In the few weeks since Bucky had left, Steve had missed him every day, and he'd come to realise a few truths that had always been there at the back of his mind. He'd realised that he needed him, but more than that, he knew he loved Bucky, simply and completely. He knew it was wrong, that Bucky wouldn't love him back, but that didn't change anything. Bucky didn’t need to know.

"Course I do. You're my best friend."  
Steve nodded, trying not to feel like a traitor. He shouldn't have the thoughts he was having, they were illegal and worse they betrayed everything Bucky had done for him.  
Bucky's hand squeezed his shoulder again.  
"Gonna make you work for it though. The guy I'm working for, he owns a small shop and for now I'm helping out there. But once you're ready, unless you find something better, well, I’ve spoken to him. Unless you find something better, you can work in the shop and I'll run deliveries, and we can live together."

Steve nodded, a slow glow of relief sinking through him. This sounded so much better than the orphanage, than his current life. Just Bucky, and a chance to get some money. They would scrape by. No one would know about the fact he had once had wings, and no one would care. He would be just another guy in a city of seven million. 

He looked up to realise that Bucky was looking at him almost calculatingly, his smile glowing. It sent a shiver down his spine, but it wasn't unpleasant. He thrilled at it instead. It felt so good to see Bucky looking at him that way. But Bucky was smirking, and he hadn't said anything yet.  
"What?" He snapped eventually, unable to wait any longer.

Bucky's smirk just widened, and then he rested an arm around Steve's shoulder.  
"You know, we could save a lot of money by getting one room instead of two..."

Steve looked up at him, wondering if he was mistaken, if he had been misreading the signals. Something told him he hadn’t. He looked into Bucky’s eyes, and finding no hostility there, he shifted so that he was standing on tip toes, bringing his lips to within an inch or two of Bucky's own. The taller youth leaned down, closing the gap between them.

The kiss itself was over in a matter of seconds. But there was no denying it had happened. The slightest brush of pleasure made Steve feel weak kneed, and he was suddenly overly aware of how close Bucky was to him, of the smell of him in his nostrils. He could definitely get used to this.

Steve blushed, looking down at the floor, words failing him. Bucky was grinning, brimming with confidence, but he didn't say anything, and for a few moments an awkward silence hung between them, before Steve reached out to squeeze his hand tighter.

Bucky shrugged.  
"Well, just think it over. The room I mean, 's up to you. But the offer's there."  
"Thanks..." Steve shifted his weight from foot to foot, thinking it over. He thought he'd like to share a room with Bucky, especially if it meant more chances for kisses like that. It had felt good, and he wanted more of them. Bucky seemed to follow his thoughts, leaning down and just brushing his lips against Steve's cheek. Steve could feel himself blushing brightly, but he didn't say anything to discourage the kisses. They felt good. 

"Off with you, before they notice you're missing..." Bucky muttered, cuddling him tightly. Steve nodded, turning away and walking back to the orphanage, weighing up his options in his mind. Being with Bucky sounded good and he thought he would quite like to be sharing a room with him. Especially when it would mean they might have enough money to eat well. 

By the time that Steve got back to his room in the orphanage, and had found a book to read, he had made up his mind.

1937 - Age 17 and 364 days  
The last year and a half had been exhausting, but life had got so much better in Steve's eyes. He was no longer in the orphanage, and no one knew what he had been. The pain that had come from losing his wings was at times only a distant memory, and when it did get bad, he could rely on Bucky's skilled hands rubbing over his back. He'd become an expert at that, at easing the worst of the memories, and stopping it from hurting when the muscles that should have been used to control the wings began to spasm painfully in the middle of the night.

The work at the shop wasn't too hard and when he was too ill to stand and had to take days off, they let him keep the job. Bucky just worked longer hours, and the job was still there for him once he could get back on his feet. At least, that had been the case so far. He simply hoped that it would continue.

He started to cough, lying on his side and curling up into a foetal position, his knees drawn up tight to his chest in an attempt to make breathing easier. He was alone for now - Bucky was at work, and there was no one around who could help. His bible was beside him, the feather still concealed within it. He was thirsty, but he couldn't easily get a glass of water as all of his muscles ached. But that was alright, he tried to remind himself of that. He was used to worse.

He just needed water, and Bucky would be home after a few hours. It was a little long to wait. He groaned, deciding that he shouldn’t. Bucky wouldn’t want him to be thirsty. He could crawl, the sink was just down the corridor.

He lowered himself out of his bed with a hiss, glancing at the empty bed on the other side of the room, which Bucky slept in. He was overcome with a fierce attack of coughing, curling up and gasping for air. The room was spinning, and starting to go dark. He couldn't breathe. He wanted to call for help but there was no one there. Even if there had been, he couldn't get enough air in his lungs to breathe. The room was starting to go black, and around the edges of his vision shapes were beginning to disappear.

"Shit." The sound of Bucky's voice seemed distant, as though it was fighting its way through very thick treacle. Steve felt hands on him, but he had no idea of where he was, or what was going on. The room had faded out completely, and his breaths were too shallow and fast, his heart beating irregularly in his chest.

There was some water brought to his lips, and he heard soft whispers from his friend, telling him that he was alright. He relaxed slowly before his eyes opened and he was able to make out the vaguest of shapes, his vision beginning to swim back into focus.  
"Hey..." Bucky grinned at him lazily. "The floor's not a good place for a nap..."

Steve opened his mouth to explain, but Bucky shook his head.  
"No..., I know, you had an attack. You've got flu, and you decided to add asthma to the mix. You are an idiot, Rogers, you hear me? A grade A idiot."

"I just...water..." Steve tried to explain, but Bucky cut him off by pushing his finger to Steve's lips.  
"No Stevie. Come on, it's your birthday tomorrow, I need you healthy. Or at least breathing. You don't get to turn eighteen if you stop breathing, so you're better off staying alive, you hear me?"  
Steve inclined his head, sipping more water and trying not to laugh. Laughing would probably just make the breathing worse.

"As it is, your eighteenth'll be fun. Great party we're going to have, with you not even able to sit up without choking..." Bucky teased, only for Steve to shrug his shoulders a little.  
"Wasn't gonna be all that great anyway..." He muttered. They didn't have much friends, or much money for food, both of which tended to somewhat restrict what you could do to celebrate your birthday. They survived, together, but their life certainly involved nothing that could have been thought of as luxury.

"It won't be so bad." Bucky rolled his eyes and squeezed for his shoulder. "No need for you to get all down about it. There's what, two of us. I can get cake for two people after work...Or I could get jelly, you'd like that..." Steve smiled weakly. He wasn't greedy, and cake was a good present, but he wished for something that would last a little longer. Almost as though he had read his mind, Bucky smiled. "You know what else? I've got you a present."

"You ... you didn't have to." Steve tried to inform him, the words punctuated by another burst of coughing. He felt guilty for wanting a present, they didn’t have the money for it.  
"Yeh. I know. But I like treating you. And it wasn't expensive. I just picked up an extra couple of shifts. Not every day your best friend turns eighteen.  
"I'm your only friend."  
"Nope. Loads of the girls that come in to work like me. You're the one who can't talk to women, I've got them falling over me."

Steve tried to muster up the strength to look unimpressed. He knew that Bucky wasn't overly interested - he was happy to flirt with women, but that was as far as it had gone. Bucky just stuck his tongue out in response, before helping Steve back over to the bed and lying him down, giving him a glass of water. Steve sipped it gratefully.  
"Now don't you go on any more adventures. I'd kiss you but you'd probably sneeze on me." Bucky muttered half to himself as he tucked Steve up under the quilt. "Just get some rest, I'll wake you up later."  
Steve closed his eyes, too tired to argue about it.

He dozed quietly until Bucky woke him by pressing a hand on his shoulder.  
"Huh?" He muttered, stifling a yawn. "'m awake."  
"Sure you are princess. You slept all night."  
Steve groaned, turning to bury his face in his pillow. He was sure he didn't have work today, so he didn't understand why waking him up was so very important. He sighed and stretched, turning over and burrowing deeper under the sheets.

Bucky spoilt that plan by grabbing the edge of the sheets and pulling them back, exposing Steve's body to the cool air of the room. Steve whined as he moved to sit up, coughing as he wrapped his arms around himself. He was wearing only some white underwear and a white vest, and even in July the room was far too cold for that.  
"Up. It's your birthday."  
With a groan of effort, Steve moved to sit up.  
"Okay..."  
"Great. Look, Miss Clarke down the hall, she gave us some pie for dinner tonight, when I told her it was your birthday, and I got the grocer's wife to give us a couple of extra apples, and I got some soup, and I bought eggs so we can have a good breakfast... we eat like kings today Stevie."

A smile split his face at that. Not at the food itself - food was good, but Steve wasn't desperate enough for it that he would be happy simply at that. No, what made his heart lift was the fact that Bucky had made the effort, and that by the sound of things, people had been willing to help.  
"Thanks."  
"It's nothing. Anyway, that's it, sit up, present time." He reached into a drawer behind him, and plonked a cold glass jar down on Steve's thigh.

Steve yelped, squirming away from it and glaring at him. He examined it to find that it was a pot of his favourite flavour of jelly.  
"That was cold James." He tried to frown, but the kindness of the gift had somewhat softened his initial ire.  
"I know..." Bucky laughed. "You only call me James when you're really mad. You shouldn't be, I got something else for you too."

That caught Steve's attention. He sat up a little straighter waiting to find out what he had been given as a gift – the jelly alone was more than he could have been expecting. Bucky reached into the drawer again, then straightened. In his hand he held a small sketchbook, and three slightly battered looking pencils. He'd sharpened them with a knife, and revealed some of the wood at the other end. S. Rogers had been written in blue ink over the remains of another name in black.

"It's perfect Bucky." Steve gasped, holding the sketchbook to his chest. Bucky leaned down and kissed his forehead.  
"Just wanted to make you happy."  
"You do." Steve reassured him, still staring at the sketchbook, mind already picturing all the things that he could fill the now-blank pages with.

"It was a good choice then? I shouldn't have been trying to buy you candy or something instead?" Bucky teased as he slid in beside him  
"'s perfect Buck. You spoil me...” Steve answered, yawning and stretching as he lay back against Bucky's side, not relinquishing his grip on his sketchbook. Not when it was still new and waiting for him to draw in it.

Bucky still had to go to work that day, but first there were eggs and toast to be eaten for breakfast. Steve picked at his food, but tried to look happy anyway - it was good, he was just ill. While he ate, Bucky remained in the kitchen, reappearing as Steve finished and carrying a plate of sandwiches, full of the jelly that had been Steve's other present.  
"There you go. So you can eat lunch. I'll put that and a glass of water on the side table, and you can just rest today okay? Get yourself well for me."

Steve wanted to protest, to say he should do something useful, but the very effort of breathing hurt. In the end he gave up and let Bucky look after him for the short time he had before he left for work.

Once he found himself alone once more, Steve lay down on the fifth-hand couch and closed his eyes, relief flooding through him when he could relax. He was bordering on exhausted even after the previous night, and soon enough he was asleep.

In his dream, everything was different. He was lying down, but there the similarities ended. He was lying in a bed with Bucky - not one of their beds, a much nicer one with more space, and softer sheets. It was raining outside, he could hear the echo of the water droplets, but they weren't making his breathing worse. Delighted, he rolled over in his dream to cuddle Bucky, only for his movement to catch slightly. He squirmed, and realised that he was unable to turn because something was against his side. He twisted to look, and gasped.

The wings were back, elegant and wide, as large as Bucky's body but reaching in both directions, extending to give him a wingspan larger than an albatross. He had shivered, and the wings had trembled. He stretched again, and then he realised the possibilities. He shook Bucky awake.

Even in the world of dreams, Bucky was difficult to wake up, groaning and whining as he tried to squirm out from Steve's attention. Steve eventually managed to wake him, only to get nearly shoved off the bed for his trouble. He would have fallen, if the wings hadn't flapped to keep him in place. Bucky had noticed, and gasped, and ran his fingers over them, and it had felt so good. Steve hadn't felt that calm, that centered and safe for years, but one thought of Bucky touching his wings and he was. 

Dream-Bucky grinned at him.  
"Those look amazing Steve."  
"I try..." He stretched, and Bucky's fingers continued to explore. Steve permitted himself to bask in the contact for a few more moments, then offered Bucky a chance to fly with him, held in his arms. Even though Steve knew that he was just dreaming it, he needed to fly again, and he wanted to give Bucky a chance to share the sensation with him. 

The thought of flying hurried Bucky up, and in the blink of an eye the two of them were standing alone in a field, but for once Steve's allergies weren’t playing up. He was able to stretch out his wings and fly. His flight was nothing spectacular - the muscles were underused and he was tired. But in his dreams he flew, and he was able to hold Bucky with him.

The dream continued for hours, as he bucked and swirled, never losing grip on Bucky as he put on a show for him, making him call out in sheer joy at the thought of being alive. The wind whistled past them, and they played in it, with the simple glee of a child paddling on a beach.

Steve woke slowly, his mind still trying to cling to the last lingering fragments of the dream, wanting it to be free. The sensation of the bed against a wingless back felt almost like a punch to the gut, and for a while he simply sat in silence, lost in his own thoughts.

It was only once he had eaten and stretched his legs a little that Steve felt strong enough to pick up a pencil and begin to sketch what he had dreamt, his pencil capturing the elegant swirl of feathers and the way Bucky's hair would be ruffled by the breeze, but unable to record the freedom that only dreams brought him now. He'd show Bucky the pictures when the time was right. For now, he was simply grateful to have put the sketchbook to good use.


	3. Chapter 3

1938 - Age 19  
Steve sat on the steps leading up to their apartment, the sketchbook in his hand. He'd managed to do a full day of work for once, and the cough he was currently suffering from was much less bad than it had been a few weeks previously. He'd got home after work while Bucky pulled a few extra hours, and then when he got back Steve was going to make dinner. Bucky was shopping on the way home, and they'd have stew or something - it depended what it was that Bucky was able to get cheaply.

He curled up against the banister, sketchbook open on his lap and beginning to draw, letting his imagination run away with him. Today had been a good day. If the day hadn't been good, he would have struggled to draw anything other than reality, than memories of his mother and the orphanage. Of Sister Tabitha and Sister Jane. But on good days like today, he drew from imagination instead. On those days the pages filled with images of flight, with the sense of movement and beauty that was lost to him now.

Bucky liked his drawings, even the flight ones. He would tell him off sometimes for drawing images of himself with wings in case they got seen, but when he drew Bucky as the one capable of flight, he would smile and kiss his forehead. He would grin and say they suited him, that he wished he could fly. Steve wished they both could, but he'd just smile at the comment. It wasn't Bucky's fault that he was no longer able to fly or be free. They had a life now, and they were making it work. 

His pencil pushed down on the paper, starting to draw. Today it would be both of them, hand in hand. He thought that if it was good, Bucky might even kiss him on the lips. Bucky and he both cared deeply for each other, but actually kissing was rare between them.

The strange dance they were doing around each other was awkward, but it was working for the two of them. They would fall asleep in each other’s arms every night, and hold hands. Some nights they would kiss shyly on the lips or the cheek, but that was all. Steve was ill, that was all Bucky would say on the matter. Steve's fragile lungs simply weren't able to cope with walking up the stairs, or running down the street. He certainly couldn't manage anything more exciting. Bucky didn't mind though. He'd go out on dates with girls sometimes, but he'd come home to Steve and kiss his cheek or forehead, and pull him to bed where they could cuddle up. It wasn't ideal, but it was working. They were managing to make a success of it.

The sketch grew beneath his fingers, and this time it wasn't holding hands like he had initially considered. He drew them curled up in bed together, his head on Bucky's chest, his wings spread out and Bucky's wrapped around him. He smiled to himself at the thought of it, even though he knew it was something that would never happen. If he closed his eyes he could picture the feel of Bucky's wings under his hands - just a touch rougher than his own had been, a rich brown he suspected. He could feel their caress over his shoulder like in the picture, and it felt good. He was working on the detailing on the feathers when Bucky returned.

He sat up straighter when he saw Bucky, smiling at him and putting the sketchbook to one side. Bucky's arms were full of brown paper bags of groceries, but he hurried into their room. Steve heard the noise of the bags being dropped down onto the ground, and then Bucky returned, crouching beside him to examine Steve's latest picture.

He glared at it, and his hand darted out towards the paper. Sickness built in Steve's stomach, and he let out a slight whimper, worried that Bucky would destroy his work. Bucky hesitated, then lowered his hand, his eyes still locked on Steve's.  
"Inside. Now."

Steve picked up his sketchbook, heading inside with a sense of dread. He wasn't normally at all frightened of Bucky, but at this moment he was scared of him. Only once they were both inside, and the door was firmly locked, did Bucky turn to him.  
"Steve, you can't keep doing this. I know you think it's cute but it could get us killed. It could get you killed Steve, I need you to understand that. You can't just keep drawing whatever you want, even out in the open. I know you want to. But you can’t. Not with those scars on your back. Draw anything else you'd like to, but don't... don't draw wings. It's not worth the risk."

Steve cowered a little at his words, holding his sketchbook close. He'd drawn the same subject dozens of times, and aside from the occasional murmur, Bucky had never seemed really annoyed. He certainly hadn't minded this much.  
"Okay..." He whispered, trying to appease him. Bucky seemed to realise this, as he frowned a moment later, guilt shining in his eyes.  
"Sorry Steve." He whispered, and the apology was clear in his voice. Steve shrugged slightly.  
"It's okay Bucky. I just... I don't know what's gotten into you today, you're normally fine with this kind of thing."

Bucky looked towards Steve, clearly weighing up his options. Steve wondered if the annoyance at his actions had been building for a long time, before today it had finally bubbled out, but something made him feel that was an oversimplification of the situation. He stayed quiet, waiting for Bucky to talk. 

"Look. At work today, after you left, one of those guys... you know the boys that work the corner of seventh?"  
Steve nodded sharply. He knew the ones Bucky meant. Young men with wings and cocky smiles, who flirted and pick-pocketed their way into survival. They kept their heads down, and tried not to be noticed unless they were looking for work. There were about five of them, who relied on each other, and would sometimes come into the shop at the end of the day to pick up any food that had been reduced as it was close to spoiling. Steve always felt sorry for them, and more than that was aware of how very easily it could have been him fighting to survive. He was so lost in his patterns of thought that he almost didn't register that Bucky was talking again.

"Well, one of them, you know the guy our age with red hair..."  
"Yeh?" Steve confirmed, picturing one of the older men there, who had bright red hair and matching stubby wings. He couldn't remember the name - Adam or Alex or Arthur, something like that. He seemed nice enough, and he always spoke to Steve when he was in the shop or walking past. For that, Steve always made an extra effort to be nice, and he certainly seemed to appreciate it.

"Well, he got pushed over on the sidewalk today."  
"Huh?" Steve frowned, his sketchbook held in front of him with his arms crossed around it, holding it to his chest. "Is he okay?"  
"He might have been from just being shoved. But the guys who did it, there were a whole group of them Steve. And they punched him and kicked him... he was curled up, trying to defend himself... and the whole time, they were screaming at him, telling him he was dirty, that he was wrong, that he shouldn't exist..." Bucky frowned, shifting his weight awkwardly and running a hand through his hair. "I don't want you to have to go through that."

The latter part of the comment was ignored by Steve, who didn't care about his own safety as much as he cared about that of other people.  
"Did anyone help?"  
"Not to start with. When I realised what was going on, I went over, told them to leave him the hell alone, and dragged them off of him. They called me a few names, but they left after that..."

"My hero." Steve teased, leaning up to peck Bucky on the lips. "You did so well."  
"Just did what anyone would do." Bucky answered, but he leaned in for another gentle kiss. "And I couldn't just walk past that. Not now, not ever. I wouldn't ever let anyone do that to another human being, wings or not."

"I know." Steve answered, looking at him with genuine pride shining in his eyes. Bucky snorted a little, but he wrapped his arms around him.  
"I'm sorry about your drawings Stevie. I love your art, and that picture is really good. I just... I worry about that happening to you. I want you to be safe, and right now that means you keeping your head down..."

Steve stared at the floor, taking deep breaths as he thought through the words. He loved drawing wings, just like he loved flying, but it wasn't worth the risk. Not with all that was happening, the increased violence towards men like him. It wasn't safe.  
"I know Buck... I'll... I'll stop drawing it when I'm out. I'll draw them when we're safe inside, when it's just us. But I ...I won't draw more attention to myself. Not when it's dangerous."

"Thank you." The sheer relief in Bucky's voice hit Steve like a punch, as he realised how scared Bucky had been. He rested his head on Bucky's chest, leaning against him. "I'll be careful."  
"I know you will be Stevie. I'm going to make dinner now, you get that drawing finished, and I'll tell you how great it is."

Steve grabbed the sketchbook and went to sit down on the floor in the corner, opening it to the right page and picking up his pencil once more, finishing the detailing on the wings. It only took a little while for the smell of cooking to fill the air, and by the time dinner was ready, the drawing was complete. Bucky called Steve over, and he came to sit at the table, putting the sketchbook down in the gap between the plates.

Bucky smiled fondly at him, and squeezed his hand.  
"You know, I think you didn't quite capture how handsome I am... but it'll do as an effort."  
Steve laughed, putting the sketchbook out of the way of any splashes of food before he began to eat, his foot brushing Bucky's own under the table. 

That night, Bucky curled up around him, one arm gently thrown over Steve's side, his other arm tucked up over his shoulder. He nuzzled at the gap between his neck and shoulder.  
"I'm sorry about earlier babydoll. Really I am. I just... I couldn't cope if that was you."  
"Yeh..." Steve shrugged, then coughed slightly. "I couldn't cope that well if it was me either."  
"You're a skinny weedy little thing, you wouldn't cope..." Bucky spoke softly, massaging his side. "Now, get some sleep, it's going to be a long day for you at work tomorrow."  
"I'll rest." Steve promised, blowing him a kiss and then closing his eyes.

He woke in the morning, still encased in Bucky's arms. He twisted a little, leaning up to kiss his cheek before he squirmed out of his grasp. Bucky's eyes opened slowly and he glared.  
"It's too early."  
"We have work. Come on. Up."  
"Do we have to get up?"  
"Yes Bucky. We have to get up. We have work."

Bucky groaned but moved off the bed, and Steve watched him with a tender smile before he attempted to move. A wave of nausea rolled through him, and he bit his lip to keep quiet, not wanting Bucky to guess that anything was wrong.  
"You okay there Steve?" He asked, frowning slightly in concern.  
"Yeh... I'm fine." He tried to smile, even though the movement was uncomfortable. Bucky looked incredibly unconvinced, but he got dressed for work and Steve did the same. The fact Steve was having a bad day wasn't enough reason to skive work, not if they wanted to be able to pay this week's rent.

Bucky patted Steve on the shoulder when they got to the shop.  
"Take care and stay out of trouble."  
"Always do." Steve answered, rolling his eyes at his friend’s concern. Bucky snorted and walked off, going to see which deliveries needed making. Once he'd taken the list away, Steve made his way to the elderly manager of the shop, a friendly man with greying hair and dark clothing.  
"You don't look so great Stevie-boy."  
"I'll be fine Mister Hanson, don't worry." Steve reassured him, overcome with a coughing fit a moment later. The older man waited for him to finish, smiling kindly, before he began to speak again. 

"You don't look so good." He repeated, smiling fondly.  
"I'll be okay." Steve repeated, trying to put as much conviction as he could into his words. Mister Hanson’s forehead creased as he looked at him.  
"You could go home if you don't feel well."  
"No." Steve answered, reassuring him. "I'll be okay. If it gets worse, I'll let you know, but I'm going to be alright. Just... I'll sit down between customers."  
Mister Hanson pressed his lips together into a thin line, frowning at him in disdain, but he didn't refuse it. He nodded in response a few moments.

"Thanks." Steve grinned as he spoke, trying to sound positive about the whole matter. He knew Mister Hanson didn't think he should work if he was ill. But he wasn't wealthy enough to pay Steve if he couldn't do his job, and Steve respected that. So he worked.

He smiled at the customers, running around the shop as fast as he could, fetching what was requested and making sure that he stocked what was needed. He beamed at the ladies who asked for things, climbed up onto the stepladder to reach the highest shelf, and tried to put other thoughts out of his mind. He was alone on the shop floor, Mister Hanson having gone into the back rooms to find something-or-other and check the stock levels.

"You look terrible." Bucky greeted him when he came in to grab more milk for the deliveries, while Steve was mid-way through weighing out supplies of sweets. "Really Steve..." He ushered Steve over to a mirror. 

The face that looked back at him really didn't look well, Steve had to admit. It was clear that Mister Hanson had had a reason to worry. His skin was pale and clammy, and his eyes looked sunken. Bucky frowned over his shoulder, and patted his hair.  
"You gotta go home Steve."

Even that gentle pat made the room seem to spin, but he shook his head.  
"It's alright. We've got Samuel coming over this afternoon. He can run around the store, and I'll make the sandwiches for people after work." He made his way back to the desk, picking up the jar full of candies again and trying to work out where he had been.  
"Alright..." Bucky agreed reluctantly. "But... Steve, you got to promise me you'll be careful." 

There was something in Bucky's voice right then that caught in Steve's mind. He sounded more nervous than before, and there was something in the way he was standing. He'd never been any good at lying to Steve.  
"I'll promise if you tell me what's got you so worked up Buck..."

"It was him. Samuel. He was leading the whole group that attacked that guy yesterday. Kicking him and swearing and saying that people with wings didn't deserve to live. And all I could think, the whole time, was that he'd do the same to you." Bucky's arms squeezed him tightly for a moment. "Just stay safe." With that, he went to fetch the milk. Steve watched him closely until the door swung shut behind him and he was left alone.

Steve rested his hands on the counter to steady himself, thinking it over. He didn't want to believe it. Yes, Samuel had made some comments before about how wingbearers were scum, that they should all have been shot at birth. But Steve liked him. He didn't want to think anything terrible of him. He closed his eyes, leaning forwards against the table in an attempt to rest, to fight through the current wave of nausea. He felt like he was burning up.

It didn't work. The darkness behind his eyelids grew more intense, and he pitched forwards onto the counter, the jars rolling off and splintering onto the floor. A moment later, Steve's body fell down with them, twisting and landing on the sharp shards. Steve didn't wake. The door to the shop opened.

"Steve!" Samuel called out, running over to him, hissing at the blood that was already seeping through the cuts and staining his shirt.  
"Mister Hanson!" Samuel cried out, carefully brushing away the largest shards of glass, his forehead creased in concern. "Steve's just collapsed...."  
The elderly man hurried forwards, and between them they managed to drag Steve over to a table and lift him on it, rolling him onto his front. By then, Steve was beginning to recover, the room seeming to swim before his eyes, everything a little blurry and a little faint. He felt hands running over his shirt gently, heard murmurs that his brain refused to understand as words.

Then a hand slipped under his shirt, and began to push it up, slowly. Steve whimpered, his brain trying to understand what was happening. He didn't want them to take his shirt away. He tried to stop them, to grab for it, but it didn't work. His hands wouldn't listen to him.

"Easy there Steve, it's okay, just got to get this off and take a look... Don't worry, James will be back soon, he'll look after you..."  
Bucky. That thought made Steve smile. He wanted Bucky. Bucky would help. He knew that. He concentrated on that.  
"What the hell?" Samuel's voice was tinged with anger and it startled him out of his daze, making him realise exactly where he was and what was happening. He was on a table, and his shirt had been pushed up then cut off. He could feel hot trickles running down between his shoulder blades and along the path of his spine. There was gentle, cautious touching as Mister Hanson wiped away the blood and eased out shards of glass.

"Help me Samuel..." The older man prompted, instructing the assistant to hold Steve still.  
"He's... He can't be. No way." Samuel sounded even angrier now, and Steve was frightened and confused. A gentle hand rested on his back, and he heard Mister Hanson's voice.  
"Easy there Steve. It's okay." It took him a moment to realise what was wrong. He was injured, but that didn't explain the anger. But the old scars did.

"Hell." Bucky's arrival on the scene was accompanied by almost casual cursing and concern. "What've you done to yourself Stevie?"  
"He passed out and fell on some glass..." Mister Hanson explained.  
"Not that..." Bucky answered, and there was sadness in his voice, as he ducked down into Steve's field of vision, shaking his head despairingly at him. "I mean his shirt."  
"He was bleeding. We needed to see..."  
"You glad you did?" Bucky challenged. "He's a good worker, you know that. We both are..." There was an awkward pause, and Steve wished he could see what was happening behind him. The words dipped down into whispers, and Steve couldn't catch them. He knew he was in trouble though. He'd ruined everything. 

Bucky's hand rested on his shoulder, resting his palm over the top of one of the parallel scars.  
"Mister Hanson, you know he works hard. He does just as well as anyone else, you know that..."  
"James..." The older gentleman's voice was soft, and he rested his head in his hands, but when he looked at them his eyes were hard. "You know I can't let him keep working here. I'm sorry. He's a good kid. And I wish you luck. But I can't. There are rules against them working, and if the customers found out… I’m sorry James."

Bucky ducked his head but nodded smartly, not wanting to argue with Steve still lying exposed.  
"Just let me get him home."  
"You shouldn't live with scum like him." That was Samuel. And a voice which Steve was used to joking with, which had been concerned for him just a few hours earlier, sounded full of hatred.

"I'm going to carry on living with him."  
"Sorry..." Steve tried to murmur, knowing the words weren't going to be enough. That there was nothing he would be able to say that could possibly fix this, no matter how hard he tried, how much he wanted to make it better. They knew, and he was no longer welcome here.  
"Don't you dare apologise Stevie." Bucky murmured, squeezing his shoulder softly. "It's not your fault." He swallowed, and when he turned to the others, his voice was quieter, more subdued, almost ashamed. "Just...give us a day. You know we're good guys. A day without anyone knowing and we'll be out of your hair."

"You still got a job James..." Mister Hanson spoke, reaching out one dark hand to Bucky's own. "I mean, I can't pay you two wages, but you still got a job..."  
"I can't." Bucky's voice shook slightly. "I want to. But it's not safe here, not for either of us."

Samuel snorted, and a few moments later Steve heard the door slam.  
"I'm sorry boys. And I wish you luck. You're good kids. I'll make sure you get your day."  
"Thanks sir." Bucky muttered. Steve didn't try and speak. No one was going to acknowledge him now. He just lay quietly as the cuts were bandaged, and tried to ignore the way that tears were slipping between his eyelids.

Mister Hanson disappeared into the back of the shop, and Bucky helped Steve to sit up.  
"This is a right mess you've got us into Stevie, you know that?" He asked, but there wasn't anger, just exasperation and sadness. "It'll be okay."

Steve nodded, too ashamed of what he was to speak. To speak would just be to condemn himself. He was trying to think of what to do, when Mister Hanson returned.  
"Here you go." He passed over a new clean shirt, Steve's size. "You ruined the old one. That'll have to do."  
"Thanks..." Steve murmured, surprised by his kindness. He pulled the shirt on and stood, looking towards the door.  
"And this." The elderly man squeezed Bucky's hand, passing over a few notes. "It's your wages for the week. And a little bit extra. Think of it as a good luck gift."

"Thanks sir." Bucky's voice was gruff, and his hand slipped around Steve's waist, supporting him back to their apartment. He was silent on the way there, and once they were inside, he turned to him.  
"We have to pack."  
"What?" Steve gasped, looking around the room that had been his home in the year since he had said goodbye to the orphanage. "Just like that?"

Bucky turned at him, his eyes angry, his hands clenched into pale-knuckled fists that hung at his sides.  
"Yes. Just like that Steve. Because we have to go now. Because if we stay, people are going to come for you, and they are going to hurt you. Because if we stay, you're going to end up just like that boy the other day or worse, and I probably will as well. Because if we stay, with your health? You won't survive what's coming for you. And I refuse to lose you. So get packing."

Steve flinched at the harshness of his words, and the sadness of Bucky's eyes. He'd ruined it all, he knew that, and a wave of guilt crashed through him.  
"Where are we going to go?"  
"I don't know Steve..." Bucky's shoulders sagged slightly, and his voice was softer now. "I don't know. Away. Away from here, we'll get a new room, we'll go somewhere we don't know anyone. We'll find a job, we'll find a home. We'll make it work. But we can't stay here. Not now. Not if you want to survive."  
"Buck..." Steve's voice faltered. "Buck, I'm sorry."  
"I know." The last of the tension faded from him, and he drew Steve into an embrace. “I know Stevie. I know.”

His hands rubbed over Steve's back, gentle and soothing. Steve relaxed into it, blinking back tears against his shoulder.  
"It's alright Steve. We can do this..." Bucky pulled away, and kissed his cheek. "Don't worry, I've had plans before, always knew this could happen. And at least Mister Hanson gave us a little bit of money, we can use it right?"

Steve nodded, turning away.  
"I'll go and pack."  
"Yeh, me too..." Bucky walked off to gather what little they had around the apartment. The beds weren't theirs, and nor were the chairs or the tables. They had their clothes, a handful of books, some photos. Steve had his sketchbook. That was everything he needed.

"You ready Steve?" Bucky asked, reaching for his hand. Steve took it and squeezed it gently, before picking up his bag.

They left that night. They might have been given the twenty four hours of grace period that Bucky had asked for, but they weren't sure that they could trust Samuel to keep his word. So with their bags over their shoulders, they headed off to the other side of Brooklyn, to find a new neighbourhood and a fresh start.

"We could go to a hotel?" Bucky suggested jokingly, knowing that the money they had wouldn't stretch that far. Steve shook his head, letting Bucky go and knock on the door of boarding houses to ask about vacant rooms. He rested on the gatepost, focusing on breathing without passing out. He felt exhausted, his bag was heavy, and he was still fighting the illness from earlier. He was stumbling in Bucky's shadow, but he wasn't left behind.

It took four boarding houses before they found somewhere with a room they could rent for now. Bucky thanked the woman running it, and helped Steve inside. Steve kept his head down, afraid of being seen. He'd already lost everything. He didn't want anyone else to know.

Bucky showed him into their new room. It was half the size of the old one, the floorboards creaked and the windows were dusty. He looked around the room, trying to find positives. There was a big window, and a bed in the corner. Steve coughed his way over to the window, only to find that it faced a brick wall. He turned to sink on the bed.

"Wouldn't do that if I was you buddy." Bucky warned him. Steve turned, noting with disgust that the bed was soiled.  
"Ugh..."  
"Steve, this is the only place we got for now. I'll look more tomorrow okay? If not, we'll make do."  
"Yeh..." Steve tried to smile. "We'll make do."

"You look exhausted. Come on, you need to sleep."  
"I'm not sleeping on that..."  
Bucky shrugged out of his coat, laying it down on the floor.  
"There you go."

Steve laid down on it, his eyes closing. Underneath him, he could feel the sharp edges of the floorboards jutting into his side. He heard Bucky lying down beside him, and an arm wrapped around him, pulling him half on top of him. He opened his eyes again to find Bucky gazing at him with exasperated affection. 

A moment later, Bucky leaned forwards, and their lips met. This kiss was different from the kisses they had shared before. It was still tender, still affectionate, but it wasn't just a childish brush of lips. It was a deep kiss, Bucky's teeth nipping gently at his lower lip before his tongue pressed into Steve's mouth, a hand coming to rest on the back of Steve's head, tilting it backwards. Steve relaxed into it.  
"You taste good Rogers." Bucky murmured when he pulled away, breathing it against his lips.

"So do you." Steve admitted.  
"I know." Bucky grinned, winking at him. "And you? You, Rogers, are far too much trouble. But I love you."  
"Yeh..." Steve kissed him again, more shyly than Bucky had but still deeply. "You love me. And I am trouble. It's part of my charm."  
Bucky chuckled, and he closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

1939 - Age 20  
"Fuck." Bucky muttered, leaning back against the wall and listening to the radio.  
"Huh?" Steve looked up from where he was sketching. He was focused on drawing Bucky in his relaxed posture, his head leaning against a shelf and a cocky smile on his face. He'd become so absorbed with what he was doing that he hadn't even noticed what was being said. It was only Bucky's voice that had jolted him back to reality. "What's wrong?"

"They've declared war." Bucky murmured. Steve pushed his sketchbook to one side, not feeling in the mood to draw any more. They'd known, everyone had known, that it was coming. But they had been hoping it would have been a little longer before it broke out.

Steve moved to sit down beside Bucky, resting his head on his shoulder. He knew the plan. Bucky had been talking about becoming a soldier even before they had had to move, and the logic of the plan was undeniable. But Steve still hadn't wanted to lose him.

"You gonna go?"  
"I have to when they start calling people up Steve, you know that. It's good money." 

Steve snorted a little at that. He found it odd, that for Bucky the reason for signing up would be because of the money. That was just how Bucky was though. He didn't believe in good and evil as simply as Steve did. He just focused on the practical side of it. It was probably for the best, Steve knew that, or they would have starved long ago. But still... For Steve it was a matter of good and bad. There was a right side and a wrong side, that had been beginning to show for months now, clear in all the newsreels, and he wanted to help.  
"I'm going with you."

"No you're not." Bucky muttered, ruffling his hair, and not paying much attention. He leaned in and nuzzled him with his nose. Steve swallowed, and ducked out of the cuddle so that he could look Bucky in the eyes.

"I'm going to do it. People...it's right. We need to do this, I need to... I need to do the right thing, and you know that..." He swallowed, his throat oddly sore from nerves. "I'm going to sign up when you do."  
"They won't have you Stevie. You've got too many health problems, you know that. And I don't want you hurt..."  
"You're putting yourself in danger."

"Yeh, I am. But my danger's gonna be the bombs and hell like that, not the goddamn air." Bucky's voice bordered on angry, and Steve ducked his head, only to look up again a moment later, his face set with determination.  
"I'm going to try."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but nodded.  
"Steve? For what it's worth? I think you'd be good at it, if it wasn't for the health. You'd do the right thing Steve, you always do. It's part of your charm."  
Steve grinned at that comment, nodding at the answer, taking it as permission to at least try and sign up. If and when young men had to give up their lives in order for good to survive, he would be willing to do it with the rest of them.  
"Thanks."

"Come on, you have to get dressed for work..."  
Steve nodded, going to get ready. He stared at himself in the mirror, looking into his reflected eyes. His face was not as thin as it had been previously, and he didn't look skeletal. He was pale, but not terribly so. The new job was working well for him.

He had been through a few jobs in the previous year, doing whatever he could. Nothing was as well paid as Mister Hanson's shop, but they couldn't ever go back there, Steve knew that. He was determined to get a well-paying job and help Bucky with the bills. But he’d had to give up a cleaning job a few weeks back when the chemicals were making him sick, and Bucky had told him he couldn't keep risking his health.

Still, he had had a new job for a few weeks now, and it was much better than the one previously. Whilst Bucky was working delivering letters he flirted with most of the shop keepers, and one elderly lady who ran a candy shop had become very sweet on him. When Bucky had told her about his sickly friend who was unemployed and a gentle artist, she had offered him a job. Steve had worked hard since he had started there, and was getting to know the local children well. Mrs Jones seemed pleased with his work and hadn’t complained at all. She’d even been sympathetic when he’d missed a day from illness.

It might not have been saving the world, but it was putting food on their table every night. He and Bucky were even saving up for some coats to protect against the winter chill. In a few months, he would sign up in any way he could. But for now, selling sweets and laughing with children was enough. He made sure that he looked smart, brushing his hair into some kind of order and pulling his dark blue apron over the shirt he was wearing. He grinned at Bucky, and then walked out of the room and down the street, his mind still full of the knowledge that war had broken out.

Mrs. Jones was busy topping up the jars of various candies when Steve arrived, carefully measuring each portion and then stacking the jars, glancing back at them in something approximating worry.  
"Something wrong ma'am?" Steve asked curiously.  
"Just thinking if this war lasts, it might get hard to get these... still, we should be okay over here. It's Europe that's at real risk of running low on...well, pretty much everything actually..." She grinned, and passed him a mint humbug. He hesitated for a moment, before grinning and popping it in his mouth, sucking on it.  
"Thanks."

"It's okay..." She answered fondly. "I know you like those ones..." She shuffled back out into the back of the shop to fetch a new jar, and re-emerged with a dusty jar of apple bonbons. Steve picked up the matching one that was in the shop window and carried it over, and helped her to top it up once more.  
"There you go..." She muttered to herself, patting the glass jar with satisfaction. Steve nodded, dusting off the front of his apron, and catching sight of himself in the reflective shop front. He was quite happy with how he looked. That was his first thought. He looked smart, respectable. Everything he had always thought he could never be.

"Stop daydreaming boy..." Mrs. Jones told him, but there was no anger in her voice. It was just a reminder to him that he had work to do. The morning passed quickly, and by lunchtime every one of the dozens of jars which lined the shelves were full once more, just in time for the first real rush of customers to arrive and empty them. It was a familiar routine, and one that Steve enjoyed. 

He hummed to himself under his breath as he carefully polished the scales used to weigh out the varying candies, looking up as the bell hung above the door chimed, announcing a customer's arrival.  
The lady who walked in was a local woman that Steve had seen a few times before. Mrs Hall was poor, the wife of a factory worker, who relished pay day and the opportunity it brought to buy her three children a few sweets. Steve had stretched what her money could buy, but Mrs Jones was yet to reprimand him for it, and he took it as a sign of tacit approval. 

The woman he caught sight of was middle aged, her face was thin, and framed with hair becoming streaked with grey. She had two little girls, and a son that Steve had seen a couple of times before. Simon, the boy, was a youth of fourteen with bright green eyes and a shock of red hair. He had his own set of wings, light grey and stubby, perched on his shoulders. His mother couldn't afford to have them removed, and he was young enough that the operation still contained a high risk of death. Today, only the two little girls followed her.

"Good afternoon Mrs Hall." Steve greeted her, having seen her as she stepped inside and then returning to his task, not glancing up from the scales that he was carefully polishing until he heard a soft sniffle from her. That brought his head up, and he saw that the woman's eyes were red with tears, bags under her eyes and her face pale. She was shaking badly, and Steve wondered for a moment if she was on the verge of some kind of fit. He moved around the desk to support her, guiding her down to a stool that was in the corner so that the highest shelves could be reached.

"Ma'am? What's wrong?" Steve asked, concern in his eyes, both of his hands clasping one of hers. She shook her head, and swallowed a few times, while her daughters clung to her skirts, too frightened by their mother's distress to be interested by the sweets around them.  
"They've taken Simon..." She whispered, eyes darting around, trying to hide her words from her daughters and any unfriendly ears who may have been listening.  
"They?"  
"The... the military. They're just.... they're taking them away. They say it'll only be for a couple of weeks, until they're sure that... there aren't plots being made, but what if I don't..." At that, tears overcame her, and Steve simply held her, rubbing her back. There was nothing more that he could do.

It took a few minutes for the woman to pull herself together, and she thanked him, taking a few deep breaths before getting up once more, and spending a few precious cents on sweets for her daughters. Steve wished there was something helpful he could say, but he was at a dead end.

He just made sure he gave her a slightly larger portion of candy, and wished her luck, telling her that her son would be in his prayers.  
"Thank you..." Mrs Hall answered, leaving quietly, the two little girls holding their mother's hands. 

He smiled weakly at Mrs. Jones when she returned, not wanting to let on why she was worried. The older woman looked through the window, at Mrs Hall's retreating back.  
"Poor thing... I'm guessing they've taken her son..."  
Steve turned to her in shock.  
"You know about that?"  
"They're taking all of the freaks with wings, they said it was just a health check and a few questions, but no one's come back yet... you don't know anyone with wings do you? I wouldn't want them to get in trouble, but sheltering... well, it's not allowed..."

Steve stared at her in horror.  
“They’re people Mrs Jones. It’s her son, not some freak.”

The older woman’s forehead creased, and she nodded once before turning away, leaving Steve feeling shaken as he thought over his own situation. No one would find out, he had to cling onto that, but right now it felt like the scars that remained where his wings had once been were burning, glowing inside his flesh.

"Here you go Stevie. If you're interested..." Mrs Jones passed over a newspaper. "You take that home with you when you're done, you've not got that long left today..."  
"Thanks ma'am..." Steve muttered, turning to serve the next customer that had just arrived, and forcing himself to push such thoughts out of his mind. The situation would still be like that later, and right now he had to work. He couldn’t let anyone suspect.

He made himself work hard, until it was time for him to go. He grabbed the newspaper, thanking her again and walking away, back to the apartment. Bucky was already there, curled up on the bed, holding the same paper that Steve had brought back. He looked up at Steve when he arrived.  
"You heard then?" He asked.  
Steve nodded, and Bucky got up from bed, walking over to him and wrapping his arms around him, guiding him over to the bed, sitting down beside him. He nuzzled against his shoulder. 

"It's alright Steve." Bucky squeezed his hand. "I won't let them get you. They won't find out..." He eased the newspaper from Steve's hand. "They'll be back in a few days, that's what the papers are saying..."  
Steve twisted, picking up the paper and reading it again.  
"It's ... yes, they're saying it's just temporary for now. Recording them..." Steve skimmed over the article. "But if America gets more involved, they are going to arrest them all..."  
"Well they won't arrest you." Bucky answered. "I don't want to lose you, you know that..." He squeezed Steve's hand. "You are too precious to me Steve, I'm not letting anyone get you."

"You think I'm still going to be able to sign up?"  
"I don't think the wings are going to be the problem." Bucky answered. "You've got other concerns..."  
"I just... I'm going to do what's right." Steve reaffirmed, mainly in an attempt to reassure himself. He shivered, and Bucky guided him to lying down, and wrapped his arms around him, cuddling up behind him and holding him safe.  
"I won't let them get you." Bucky repeated, and he sounded so certain that Steve couldn't help trusting him. He yawned, and closing his eyes, feeling the warmth of Bucky's body against his back. For now at least, he knew that he was safe.

1940 - Age 21  
Steve dragged the broom over the floor of the shop, glancing around at the dusty shelves, and sighed to himself. It had been far too quiet recently. War hadn't reached America yet, but there was still awareness that it would be coming. People were signing up for the army, and Steve was worried that soon Bucky was going to leave. He just had to find a way to sign up as well. His thoughts were focused on the situation in Europe, on the concept of what was right and wrong, and he wasn't paying attention as Mrs. Jones came out of the back room, her head bowed, and headed over to him.

"I'm sorry Stevie..." Mrs Jones looked at him sadly, brushing her sugar-coated fingers on the dark blue fabric of her apron. "I just can't afford to keep paying you..."  
Steve flinched slightly at those words, startled by what she was saying. He'd known that it was coming, of course he had, but it was still hard to hear. His hours had been greatly cut recently. There simply hadn't been enough customers buying sweets for the shop to be financially viable, and if he wasn't let go it was likely that the shop would have to close.  
"I'm sorry...." Steve muttered. She embraced him, and he held her in return, blinking rapidly in an attempt to stop himself from crying.

"It ain't your fault Stevie... don't you dare apologise for it..." Another hug, and she let him go. He unfastened his apron, and handed it over to her, a faint smile on his lips that was there just for show. He thanked her softly, and she squeezed his hand. Steve made himself walk out of the shop, keeping his breathing slow and calm, and blinking to keep himself from crying. 

He'd lost his job. He was going to have to tell Bucky he couldn't help out with the rent or the food for a bit. And Bucky wouldn't mind. Somehow, that was the worst bit of it. Bucky was so patient and kind to him, and he understood when he couldn't do things because he was ill, or because he was worried about what was happening in the world. Bucky was good about things like that.

He stared at the pavement, scuffing his feet over the paving stones, his thoughts whirling. Maybe what people said about those with wings was right. Maybe they were just cursed, maybe they were freaks. It was certainly the only thing that he could use to explain his bad luck. 

He was startled from that negative spiral when he saw a gang of seven youths running down the other side of the road - school boys on the way home after a long day. One of the boys ran ahead of the others, smaller and skinnier than the rest. The others were shouting at him, calling names. As Steve watched, one of them picked up a pebble from the side of the road and threw it at the one in front. It bounced off his back and he yelped in pain. 

Steve started to walk across the road, calling out to the teens. In them, he could see all the boys that had tormented him, those who had ruined his life when he was young, made him feel even more of a monster than he actually was. The boy being chased was like him, and he could help him. He could stop him from suffering in turn.  
"You there, leave him alone!" He shouted, getting closer to them. He'd have run if he was able to, but it was too difficult with his asthma. 

The six larger boys stopped, turning towards him. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw the little one racing off out of sight. He'd done what he wanted to. He'd got him out of trouble, but he'd got himself in trouble in return.

"What's it got to do with you?" One of them asked, his lips curving in a sneer.  
"You know him? You friends with him?" The largest boy called. He walked forwards, his hands shoving out towards Steve's shoulders, sending him stumbling back. The others circled around him, trapping him. He was pushed between one and the other, falling and stumbling as they shoved him. Their feet lashed out at his own, nearly knocking him down, and after a few more rounds they threw him to the floor. 

That was when the kicking really started. He tried to push himself up to his feet, only to get shoved down again. He kept trying, knowing that he'd done the right thing, but beginning to lose the fight. He didn't want to end up with a huge medical bill. It was too much for Bucky on top of everything else. He gasped as he slammed down again, cradling his wrist. It was bent at a weird angle and a spark of pain ran down his arm.

"What the hell are you boys doing?" A familiar voice cut through the air, and the boys froze, finding themselves faced with someone larger than them. They scarpered, and Bucky leaned down into Steve's field of vision. "I should have guessed it would be you. Is this a hobby Steve? Because really, you should have a better hobby." He sounded fond, if somewhat exasperated by the whole thing, and a hand reached down to help him up.

"But I like it as a hobby. It's fun." Steve protested, whimpering a little as he tried to put weight on his ankle and got a jolt of pain through his leg. He took a deep breath then tried again. "And anyway, I won."  
"Sure you did Stevie... You do realise that living through a beating isn't actually winning?"  
"It feels like it." Steve shot back, letting Bucky support him. "I had a bad day anyway."

"What happened babydoll?" Bucky asked, guiding him back to their apartment, his hand resting for a moment on Steve's ass. Steve shook his head, and Bucky hissed, knowing what the problem was going to be.  
"Mrs Jones couldn't keep you anymore?"  
Steve nodded, stumbling as he walked, words deserting him as his head hung down and he stared at the pavement. He felt useless right now. Useless and a burden and a problem. He didn't want to be, but he was, and Bucky deserved better than that. 

Bucky just drew him closer, and Steve inhaled a reassuring gasp of Bucky's scent. He was safe in his arms. The door of the apartment was unlocked, and the two of them headed into it, Bucky depositing Steve on a chair before fetching him a glass of water.  
"So, you lose your job and then you decide to get beaten up by a bunch of teenagers? Because I'm not really following the logic there Stevieboy, I don't know why you'd do that..."  
"I wasn't... It wasn't because of the job. They were chasing a kid, so I stopped them and they turned on me."

Bucky walked over, his hand resting under Steve's chin and tilting it so that he could look into his brilliant blue eyes.  
"What am I going to do with you Stevie?" He murmured, and he brushed his lips over Steve's forehead with almost painful tenderness. "Don't you ever change who you are. Whatever happens, don't you change."  
"I won't..." Steve promised, knowing that it was a part of him. Bucky patted his shoulder, but did so gently.

"I'll make it work. I'll pull a few extra shifts, until you find something. Jobs will turn up, don't you worry about that."  
Steve nodded, and squeezed his hand fondly. He could cope, as long as Bucky would stay with him. He'd keep looking. First though, he would need to take a couple of days to recover from the beating he had just taken.

1941 - Age 22  
"Steve." Bucky's voice was bordering on impatient this time, touched with the sheer frustration that was an integral part of his life. Steve groaned, keeping his eyes closed and trying to ignore the voice at least until he understood where he was. He began with the most basic elements. The sheets underneath him were softer than the ones they had at home, and the air smelt of lemon and other chemicals, with a soft scent of flowers at the back. That was good.

What was less good was the pain which lingered through his entire body, making every breath or twitch agony. He didn't know how to stop it, or how he'd got into this situation... He went to open his eyes and found that only one would open - the other was swollen closed. He peered out with the good eye, looking up at Bucky curiously, and registering the layout of the room beyond. There were other people he could see out of the corner of his working eye, all in their own beds. They were in a hospital then. That made sense. 

He'd got himself in hospital, and judging by Bucky's expression it wasn't good.  
"You woke up then. About damn time Steve, I was getting worried."  
"What..." Steve croaked out, wanting to know what had happened to put him in that situation. Bucky just regarded him coldly, clearly mentally counting out the seconds before he deigned to speak to him.  
"You know Steve. Just remember..."

Steve wanted to say that his head hurt, that he was tired and under pressure and that it would be easier if Bucky just told him. But he could tell what Bucky's mood was, that he was hurt and angry and afraid. He could see how Bucky felt, and he was certain that if Bucky was feeling like that, antagonising him wasn't going to help matters. Instead, he tried to work out how he had ended up in hospital. To buy himself some time, he licked his lips, and croaked out a few more words.  
"How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad Steve... you punk, how do you get yourself like this?" The bed bent slightly as Bucky sat down on the edge of it, his hand reaching out to squeeze Steve's own before stroking down his arm. "I have no idea how you get yourself into messes like this, I swear that no one else causes this kind of trouble..." His other hand reached out to ruffle Steve's hair, careful not to put too much pressure on the bruises across his face.

"I had to..." Steve murmured, gazing down and trying to be small, feeling a little lost. "There was a kid. A little one, playing with his friends in the block next to ours. He still had wings, and he's... he was just a kid, you know? He and his friends don't know any better, and..." He shrugged, groaning as he tried to explain. "Some guys had had too much to drink and they saw him. So they went for him, he got some bad bruises, but he's going to be okay..."  
"Because you decided to take the beating yourself?" Bucky asked, the exasperation clear in his voice. "You have any idea how close you came to breaking bones?"  
"Probably pretty close..." Steve admitted, groaning a little at the pain.

"Yeh, pretty darn close..." Bucky answered, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. "I despair of you Rogers, I really do. You're a mess..." He reached to the table beside a bed and then turned back, holding up a mirror. "Here..."

Steve looked up, and flinched at what he saw. His face was bruised, one eye swollen closed, a nasty cut on his forehead and bandages over it, and more bandages were visible on his shoulders and rib cage before they vanished down under the neatly folded sheets of the hospital bed. He glanced up at Bucky and saw the pain in his eyes.  
"Sorry Buck."  
"It's alright... they said you could come home soon, you know?" Bucky answered. "You don't have to worry, we'll get you home and to bed..." He smoothed down Steve's hair fondly. "And we'll make sure that I take proper care of you..."  
"Does that line ever work?"  
"You tell me." Bucky answered with a grin.  
"Yeh." Steve looked up at him, a little dazed. "Yeh, it did. But I'm still a bit sore..."  
"I'll be real gentle." Bucky promised, kissing his cheek.

"Alright..." Steve agreed, yawning, and smiling at the doctor who came to check him over. He let the noise of the consultation wash over him, with Bucky handling the conversation. His thoughts were full of the boy he had saved. The fact that there were children being hurt, just for how they had been born, for what they were, sickened him, and left him wondering if good and bad were as simple as he had always believed.

Knowing he should be suffering alongside them was worse, and he curled up a little, his arms around himself. To him, it didn't matter how hard he worked, what he did. He still wasn't going to be able to escape the dirt of how he was born, or of what was done to him. 

The doctor left, and Steve didn't notice, his thoughts spiralling down until Bucky's hand brushed his hair out of his eyes and brought him back to the here and now.  
"Hey Stevie... we lost you for a bit back there..."  
"I was thinking..." He admitted. "Just thinking about what I was, and... and what I deserve. How I'm no different, no better than any of the rest of them. And they're no worse than anyone else either..."  
"You do realise that makes you just as good as anyone else?" Bucky asked. "Anyway, you're allowed home. If you get ill, or if you keep losing your thoughts, then you'll have to come back in and they'll keep more of an eye on you." He explained. "Otherwise, I'm being trusted to supervise you." 

"Wow, they must be desperate." Steve grinned at him, and let Bucky help him up from the bed. Bucky's arms wrapped around him, supporting him as the two of them walked along. Steve murmured soft thanks to the nurses they passed on the way out, feeling himself blushing a little at the way they smiled at him. He was naturally a very shy person, and that was worse around women. Bucky just grinned, winking at them and saying he'd be here again soon.  
"Next time Stevie here gets himself beaten up like this, I'll be back to see all you lovely ladies..."  
They laughed in return, waving back at him and smiling coyly in turn.

Once they were out of the hospital, Steve poked Bucky in the chest.  
"I thought you planned to take care of me?"  
"I do Rogers. I do, but can't a man ... play the field? Make friends with some friendly women like that? They do a good job you know, they help people, they work hard, they deserve the occasional smile."

Steve shook his head in mock despair.  
"And you say I'm trouble."  
"You are trouble." Bucky pointed out. "You're nothing but trouble."  
"I do my best..." Steve stumbled, but Bucky held him up, groaning slightly at the weight of him.  
"You need a diet Rogers." Bucky grinned. "I can barely do this." With that, he picked him up, holding him against his chest.  
Steve considered his options. He could flail and try and get out of Bucky's arms. At best, that would lead to him being put down, and more likely it would mean he got dropped. Or he could stay still and let Bucky carry him and get home easier. It didn't take long for him to make his decision, and his arms wrapped around Bucky's neck.

Bucky carried him all the way back to the apartment, and Steve tried to handle it with silent dignity, until they actually got home and Bucky put him down to unlock the door. Then the two of them walked into their rooms, Bucky's arm around his waist. Only once the door was closed, and the outside world left behind for a little while, did Bucky lean in and kiss Steve.

They'd kissed before, hundreds of times by now, but it had never been like this. The kiss was passionate, Bucky's hands running down to his hips, squeezing slightly as he sucked on Steve's bottom lip.  
Steve groaned, pressing against him for a moment, before moving away, and looking into his eyes. He knew this was different. He just wanted to check that it was something Bucky wanted as badly as he did.  
"You sure about this?"  
"Absolutely babydoll. Your health is a lot better than it used to be. You getting yourself into a state like this to save people...well, you deserve a reward... plus, I have a thing for heroes... Long as you're sure."  
"I've never been surer." Steve grinned at him, pressing back against him.

Bucky lead him towards the bedroom, his fingers deftly unbuttoning Steve's shirt, his teeth nipping at Steve's neck.

Steve arched his neck back, exposing his throat for him. It felt amazing, being so close to Bucky, having his touches over his skin. He was being gentle right now, and Steve was grateful. Bucky's fingers went to open up his shirt, the skilled fingertips undoing it a button at a time. Bucky leaned in, nuzzling down his chest, and smirking. 

"Beautiful..." He frowned when he pushed Steve's shirt back, exposing his chest. "That looks sore..." He murmured cautiously, fingertip skimming lightly over a purpling bruise. Steve hissed softly then relaxed. "I'll be really careful with you." Bucky promised, sighing.

"It's not that bad...." Steve muttered, and Bucky rolled his eyes, leaning in to kiss him once more, sucking on his lip. Steve groaned into his mouth, his hands rising to strip Bucky in turn, pushing off first his shirts and then his pants. 

Once they were both just in their underwear, they looked at each other, and paused. They'd fooled around a few times before, and they'd seen each other naked dozens of times, but this was different. Steve's heart raced, and he gazed down at the bed sheet, suddenly nervous to go any further.

"Stevie?" Bucky asked, leaning down and tilting his head so that his face appeared in Steve's line of sight. Steve smiled at him, and leaned in to kiss him once more. Bucky's hands rested on his shoulders, guiding him back to the bed and lying over him, his hand snaking between their bodies to wrap around Steve's cock, stroking it slowly. 

Steve felt himself relax, trusting Bucky. This was fantastic. He ran his hands over Bucky's back, his fingertips stroking over the muscles there, easing away the tension, before they slid lower down to his ass, caressing the soft skin there. Bucky gasped slightly, and Steve smiled to himself, knowing that he was doing the right thing. He brought his hips up, pressing them against Bucky's. 

Bucky grinned, nipping at Steve's ear gently.  
"You... you are wearing too much." He told him, voice tinged with the same fond exasperation that he used when Steve had managed to get himself beaten in a fight. This time though, Steve smirked back at him, the expression sending a thrill straight to Bucky's crotch.  
"I am."

Bucky eased away their underwear, wrapping his hand around Steve while he kissed him. Steve shuddered, his hands running down to squeeze Bucky's ass. Bucky grinned at him, spreading Steve's legs.  
"I got some special oil for this earlier..."  
"You've been planning this."  
"I have been planning it." Bucky answered, nibbling against Steve's ear. "Can you blame me?"  
"Not a jot..." 

Bucky guided Steve's legs apart, kissing him again as his hand stroked up his thigh. He picked up the bottle and wet three of his fingers, guiding one into Steve's body, kissing him gently as Steve hissed a little.  
"Say if you need me to slow down..."  
"I don't..." Steve answered, his body jerking up towards Bucky's as his finger stroked over his prostate. "Oh...oh God..." He gasped.

Bucky smirked, his fingers brushing over that spot again, feeling Steve's body trembling around him.  
"You are stunning..." He whispered, adding a second finger, preparing him slowly as he kissed at his neck. Beneath him, Steve gasped, shuddering at the attention.  
"Be careful..." Bucky admonished with a brush of teeth against Steve's lower lip. "Don't want you to get an asthma attack..."  
"I'll be careful." Steve promised, gazing up at Bucky.

"Think you're ready babe?"  
Steve nodded once, and Bucky eased his fingers out, before slowly pushing into the heat of his body. Once he was fully buried within him, he stayed still, his clean hand brushing Steve's hair from his eyes.  
"That okay?" He could feel Steve tight around him, his breath a little shaky, but he was remaining calm, and as Steve slowly relaxed, he smiled up at him.

After Steve became used to the sensation, Bucky slowly rocked his hips, earning soft gasps from the man beneath him. He carefully altered his angle, until he found the spot that made Steve groan, his arms tightening their grip around Bucky's shoulders and his hips moving to meet Bucky's.

The two of them moved together, Bucky muttering meaningless words of reassurance to Steve until he became too breathless to speak, simply gasping out for Steve. Beneath him, Steve's breath became faster, and he moaned out.  
"Bucky, I'm going t-" He didn't even finish his warning before he came, his seed covering his stomach. He lay back on the bed, panting for air, as Bucky continued to thrust within him.  
"Steve!" He cried out as he climaxed, kissing Steve tenderly before pulling out.

Steve whimpered slightly at the sudden sensation of emptiness, and Bucky cleaned them both with a handkerchief, before lying down and guiding Steve into his arms. He settled the blond over his chest, and he stroked his fingers through his hair.  
"You're so good Stevie... you are incredible..."

Steve just yawned, and cuddled up closer to Bucky's chest.


	5. Chapter 5

1942 - Age 23  
"Steve..." Bucky murmured, his fingers running through Steve's hair, gently dragging him to the land of people who were not asleep. It was not a destination that Steve particularly wanted to go to, so he just groaned and nestled his head more firmly into Bucky's shoulder.

"I know you're awake."  
"No'm not..." Steve muttered. "'m asleep, you just have a good imagination..."

Bucky's hand ran down to rest on his hip, stroking the skin there gently.  
"I can tell when you're lying Stevie..." He kissed his forehead, giving Steve a couple of minutes to pull himself together. Eventually, Steve looked up at him, eyes a little more clear than they had been previously.  
"What is it?" Steve asked, glancing towards the window. "It's not even light out. And it's a Saturday..."  
"I made a decision." Bucky answered. That woke Steve up, his body growing tense beneath Bucky's fingers, his eyes closed as he took a few quick breaths, then seemed to untense through sheer force of will, relaxing each muscle in turn.  
"About the war?" Steve asked, his voice shaking a little and his throat dry. He didn't want this conversation, was too frightened of where it might lead.

It wasn't that he disagreed with the war. He supported it, and he wanted more than anything to have the chance to fight at Bucky's side, to protect the country and freedom and other things which he truly and utterly believed in. But he knew that he wouldn't be able to. He was too ill, and his wings alone would have barred him from active service, even without the myriad health issues that he suffered from.

If Bucky was going to sign up it meant that Bucky would be going alone. Steve swallowed, desperately wanting to say something else. He wanted to say that they were surviving fine on Bucky's income, but the truth was that most nights, they both went to bed hungry, or missed every meal other than dinner. It was several months until winter, but last year Steve had only just lived through it. He wouldn't be able to handle another year without medicine, and they both knew it. The army meant that Bucky would have more money, and that he could do what Steve felt was his duty. But for Steve, that didn't feel like enough.

"What've you decided?" He asked eventually, his voice quiet. He didn't want to hear, but not knowing was worse. Glancing at Bucky's face, he could tell that his lover was aware of his tangled emotions, but that there was nothing Bucky could do to help him.  
"I'm gonna go Stevie. It's the right thing to do, and we both know we need the money."  
"I'd be okay..." Steve tried to argue. "I'll just take it easy this winter...."  
"Steve."

"Or I could lie. They're desperate for men to sign up." Steve seized on this idea. He truly wanted to do his duty, to not just be a burden on Bucky and to not have to feel like a hypocrite for not doing what he felt was right.  
"Not that desperate." Bucky answered, and Steve responded by jabbing him sharply in the ribs. He just grinned at him, and Steve snorted, nuzzling against his throat.  
"They might be..."  
"You can try. But they aren't going to want you Steve. You stay here, there'll be other things you can do, and hey, there'll be a lot of pretty dames around with their men overseas."

"Idiot." Steve muttered, but his words were affectionate. "My man will be overseas too."  
"Well, I'm sure there'll be some pretty girl...that's what dames do right, when the menfolk are away..."  
Steve laughed loudly at that, amused for a moment at the thought of himself as an army bride. But it wasn't what he wanted to do. What he wanted to do was to fight for what he felt was right. As he thought this, his breathing subsided into another violent coughing fit.

Bucky rubbed his back.  
"Stevie, you need to go to the doctor. And that means I gotta go."  
"Take me with you?" Steve pleaded when he was finally able to breathe again. "We can go and try to sign up together. That'd be good right? We'd end up on the same battalion, I'd like that. We could be in the 107th like my dad was, make him proud."  
"We'll see Stevie." Bucky promised, but there was sadness in his voice. Steve burrowed against his side, and said nothing more on the topic.

The next few days passed in a blur, with Steve trying to take care of Bucky, and not think about his upcoming departure. He found himself worrying constantly, even as he tried not to think too much about the whole situation. 

He was afraid. That was the truth of the matter. Bucky made him happy, he always had. But now he was losing him. Bucky was doing what was right. Bucky was doing what needed to be done, what the heroes had to do, but Steve couldn't. Bucky knew he was upset, but there was nothing he could say or do to help. Bucky was going to do what he had to, and Steve couldn't go with him.

The morning Bucky went to sign up, they ate breakfast together, smiling and laughing like normal.  
"I better go Stevie. You okay sorting dinner?"  
"Yeh, I'll go to the market later." He answered. "You be careful alright? The soldiers aren't going to be impressed if you manage to fall over your own feet."  
"You, Rogers, are a punk."  
"Jerk." Steve answered with a smile, watching until Bucky had left. Then he went after him. He thought he could probably get there first if he hurried, and there was more than one room they waited in. Either way, he could hide behind a newspaper.

The man who greeted him on the door looked unimpressed, but told him to take off his shirt and wait with the rest. He got called up in turn, and the man looked him up and down with mild disgust.  
"Rogers."  
"Yes sir."  
"You are unsuitable. You have asthma, you have a family history of Tuberculosis, you have a history of panic attacks..." He glanced down at the notes, listing off condition after condition. Then the man's eyes hardened and he looked up. "And you have those scars on your back. We don't need people like you fighting for us. We're better off without you."

"Thank you for seeing me sir." Steve muttered, forcing the words out even when he didn't want to. He had to give a good impression. He walked out and headed towards the market, mind still full of thoughts. After a few moments, an idea occurred to him. He could try again. Give a different location, go to a different centre, and hopefully someone would accept him. He wanted to do this. He wanted to be a soldier. With any luck, he was still going to get in the same regiment as Bucky.

He bought what they needed, managing to find it at a low enough price that he could afford enough for a couple of days. Then he headed home, and began to work on dinner for them.  
Bucky strode in almost an hour after Steve got back, a grin plastered on his face and a piece of paper in his hands.  
"Got it." He told Steve. "I've got to train, and it might be a few months before they call me up, but I've got a role. Soon as they need soldiers, I'm going out there."  
Steve nodded, clapping a little and dishing up the food.  
"Well done Buck. Never doubted you."  
"I knew I could." Bucky grinned. "Don't worry Steve. I'll write you. And you can send me parcels, and make me jealous with all the beautiful dames you get to spend time with. How's that sound?"

Steve thought it didn't sound ideal, but he made himself smile up towards Bucky.  
"That sounds good." He knew that Bucky needed this, and it was right. He just wished he could join him. 

Bucky kissed his cheek.  
"I'll write you every chance I get. I swear it."  
"Thanks Bucky." Steve answered. "But I might be out there with you."  
"They won't take you."  
"I can at least try."

Bucky turned to him, his expression a little more serious than it normally was.  
"I saw you Steve. You're tiny. You're pretty easy to spot, you're so thin. So I saw you there with the rest of them, and I know they turned you down."  
"I'll try again."  
"You just don't know when to stop, do you Steve... it's illegal to lie on your enlistment forms."  
"I'm just doing what I got to Bucky. I got no right to stay at home when you go out and risk your life for what's right."  
"I know Steve. I just..." Bucky shook his head. "Just eat Stevie. And be careful, for God's sake."

1943 – Age 24  
Steve looked back at the recruitment centre as he walked away, his head down as he pulled his grey jacket back on. He had hoped that he would be lucky this time, but there was no success. Still no one wanted him. He knew if he kept trying, one day he'd manage it. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was his destiny, that he had to go and fight for what was right.

But today, he wasn't going to achieve his goal. Swallowing down his disappointment and sense of rejection, he headed to the cinema, paying to watch the latest film. It was a rare treat, but right now he felt like he needed it, and Bucky had given him a little money a few days ago. He settled down to watch it, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to think too much.

A propaganda reel started about the war effort, and he fought back the sense of disappointment that waved through him. He saw these heroes, and he longed to be among them. The man in front of him started to boo.  
"Hey! Just start the cartoon!" He yelled out. Steve couldn't stand for that, telling him he had to show some respect. The shouter in front turned around, and Steve didn't shut up, even when the man took him outside and began punching him. He grabbed a bin lid in an attempt to shield himself from the worst of the blows.

"You just don't know when to give up, do you?" His opponent asked, shoving him back down onto the ground again, punching him again hard. Steve stumbled, trying to right himself and get back to his feet.  
"I can do this all day..." He answered, staggering again. He could feel the alleyway swimming around him, and he couldn't see straight, but he wasn't going to give up. His attacker pulled his hand back for another blow, and Steve braced himself for the impact, only for the man to be spun out of his way. 

"Hey, pick on someone your own size." Bucky's voice cut through the air, and he shoved the man away, kicking him in the ass and smirking to himself. Steve looked up at him and smiled a little as he stumbled to his feet once more, noticing the uniform stretched over Bucky's frame. It looked good on him. Bucky's hand reached out to guide him up once more.  
"Sometimes Stevie, I think you like getting punched."  
"I had him on the ropes..." 

Bucky shook his head, glancing him up and down.  
"No luck?” Steve shook his head. “Where were you from this time?" Steve held out the paperwork, and Bucky grabbed it. He shook his head.  
"Paramus... New Jersey, really? You know it's illegal..."  
Steve shrugged. They both knew he knew. Instead, he gestured towards Bucky.  
"Looks good on you."  
"Well yeh, you're looking at Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th. Shipping off to England first thing tomorrow."  
"Your last night?" Steve asked, trying to stop his voice from shaking. He had known it was coming, but it was still a shock.  
"Yeh. My last night, I got to get you cleaned up."

"You got a plan?" Steve asked, a little cautious. He cared deeply for Bucky, but was very aware that their idea of a good time didn't always match. Worse, he didn't like the idea of losing Bucky. But Bucky's arm was around his shoulders, and a smile was on his face as he led him away, back towards their apartment.

"I sure do." He answered. "I got you a date, and we're going to the Stark Expo."  
"You got me a date?"  
"Yeh." He shrugged. "I thought, you're about to be the last eligible man in New York, I'll give you a chance to get some practice in..." Bucky ruffled his hair, leaning in and kissing him softly. "Now, go and smarten up."

Steve went to put on his best clothes, and went to meet them. Bucky introduced him to a woman whose name he couldn't remember, but who seemed lovely enough. She was wonderful, but he would have rather been there with just Bucky. Still, looking around at the 'World of Tomorrow' was pretty amazing.

"Hey, Stevie, you gotta come see this." Bucky grabbed his shoulder, and steered him towards a stage where Howard Stark was demonstrating his best "Gravitic Reversion technology".  
"What the heck is this?" Steve asked.  
"Just watch..." Bucky murmured, talking to the dames. Steve was jealous at how easy and calm he was with them. To him, girls were a foreign species. It wasn't that he didn't like them, he did, he just didn't have a clue of what to say. He watched as the car on stage started to hover. He applauded with all the rest, trying not to think about the fact he would never have needed a flying car if he had still had his wings. Bucky clapped with the rest, but Steve glanced around for something more interesting. 

As the others laughed, he saw what he was looking for. Towards the back, he could see an enlistment stall set up. He snuck off, heading towards it. This was his fourth attempt. Fourth time lucky... He was nearly there when Bucky's hand landed on his shoulder.  
"What do you think you're doing?"  
"It's a fair. I'm going to try my luck." Steve answered.  
"Stevie, they'll catch you, or worse they'll actually take you." Bucky answered. "Look, we've got dames to talk to, we've got a plan for the evening, we've got things to do. We don't have time for this."

"There are men laying down their lives." Steve answered, angered by the suggestion that he should be prioritizing time with dames above what he knew he had to do.  
"Right, cos you've got nothing to prove." Bucky countered, and Steve knew he was right. He was small, and he wanted to show people that he could help, that he could be a soldier just like Bucky, that he could be a hero. But that wasn't why he was going here. He was going because it was what he felt he had to do. It was his duty.

Bucky looked into his eyes, seeming to understand something, and sighed softly, squeezing his shoulder.  
"I'm going back with the girls. I hope I'll see you later...if not, well...off first thing tomorrow. And Stevie... Don't do anything stupid til I get back."  
"How can I?" Steve asked, feeling calmer now, smiling. "You're taking all the stupid with you."  
"You're a punk."  
"Jerk." Steve answered, the words a familiar pattern by now. "Be careful... don't win the war til I get there." He watched Bucky retreating until he was lost in the crowd, and only then did he go deeper into the stall to try his chances.

He gave his details, a new location, and was shown in. He tried not to look at the sign by his head, reminding him that it was illegal to lie on your enlistment form. He just knew this was something that he had to do, and he felt that because of that, it was alright to lie. He needed to try and do this. Someone was shown in to look at him, an older man with receding hair and round glasses. 

He introduced himself as Dr. Erskine, and Steve stuttered through a response, wondering if he was going to be arrested now. He’d known it was a possibility. It took a few moments for him to realise what was going on – he wasn’t in trouble. The new man was from the Strategic Scientific Reserve, whatever that was, and they were interested in him.

Steve knew that this could be his chance. He watched, tense, as the man glanced over his notes. He knew what it said on there – that he was ill, and worse about the fact he had once had wings. The wings he had once possessed barred him from being a soldier, but he wasn’t sure they would bar him from being a test subject.  
“So…” Those beady eyes focussed on him, and Steve realised that Erskine was risking a lot even talking to him, even considering him for whatever this programme was. “You want to go and kill some Nazis?”  
He hesitated for a moment.  
“Is this a test?”  
“Yes.” Erskine answered, seemingly amused by Steve’s question. He took a moment to collect his thoughts and then he spoke.  
“I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

Apparently, that was the right answer. Doctor Erskine nodded, saying about how there were already so many strong men fighting. He smiled at Steve.  
“Maybe what we need now is a little guy.” With that, papers were pushed into Steve’s hand, and he signed up. He knew he wasn’t going to be a soldier exactly. But whatever it was that he’d been given a chance to do, it meant that he could help the war effort, aid those who were risking their lives. That was good enough for him. He was told where to go, and thanking everyone once more, he left the tent.

He began to search for Bucky. He knew he wouldn’t have gone too far, even if he had two beautiful dames to entertain. He’d still be somewhere at the Expo. As he searched, he decided not to tell Bucky about this. Not yet, not until it was more certain. Bucky was going to be risking his life soon, Steve didn’t want to give him more to worry about. He’d just make sure that they had a good last night together. He’d mention it in a letter if it was needed.

“You look lost Stevie.” Bucky called out, an arm wrapping around Steve’s shoulder from behind. “You okay?”  
“Yeh… yeh I’m good.”  
“Well come on then, we’ve got dancing to do…” Bucky grinned, and led the way back to the waiting girls.

1943 – Age 24  
Bucky had shipped off to England with the rest of the 107th the next morning, and Steve had had to leave that dream behind, but he had a chance now, a new dream. All going well, and he’d survive all the experiments, and then he would able to go over and play his part. That and the thought of seeing Bucky again, drove him on even when everything else was stacked against him.

Steve clung to his kitbag, as he looked around at where he’d ended up. He was in a training camp now, surrounded by men twice his size and five times his strength, every one of them the image of a hero. He didn’t belong here, and they all knew it. Private Hodge had made that clear already, shoving him and telling him he was just there to serve as a punching bag. But Erskine had had faith in him, and he wasn’t going to let the man down. No one else had had faith in him, but Erskine had.

An English dame stood before them, explaining why they were here. She was beautiful, but more than that, she was tough. When Hodge called out to her, laughing at her for her voice and the fact she was a woman, she got him to step forwards and floored him. Steve didn’t even attempt to hide his smirk. Agent Peggy Carter, that was her name. If she could make it in the army, then so could he.

An officer joined them, and Carter introduced him as Colonel Phillips. Steve listened, and tried to pretend he couldn’t see the disgust on the Colonel’s face when he glanced towards him. He’d prove he should be there. It was important to him that he could do that, because it was his duty, and more than that, it would mean he was worthy of Bucky, and of carrying on his father’s legacy.

He stood to attention with the rest, and listened to how the Strategic Scientific Reserve would use the best minds in the free world to win the war. He paid closer attention as they began to talk about a new breed of super soldier that would ‘personally escort Adolf Hitler to the gates of hell’. The men here, the men he stood amongst, the men he was one of, were going to strike a vital blow and help them to victory. He felt pride at that. He might not be the strongest there, but he had been chosen as one of them, and he was going to do it right. 

That motivated him through the training. It hurt, it was exhausting, and it left him aching all over. Constantly. But he didn't want to let Erskine down. When they were scrambling up the nets, he struggled, and Hodge led the others in making it harder for him, shaking the net until he fell. As he crawled through the mud, a pillar got knocked out to send the barbed wire crashing down on him. He tried to run with the rest, to keep up with them, even when it was leaving him unable to breathe properly. He found himself struggling, but he was determined to keep up. Burning pains shot up his legs but he made himself going. 

Ahead of him he could see that the others had stopped. He stumbled up after them, struggling to breathe, and arrived just as Colonel Phillips was telling them that in seventeen years, no one had got the flag. That didn't interest him. What interested him was the fact that if he did manage to get the flag, he could ride back. He wasn't sure he'd be able to make it back otherwise, so he decided he'd get the flag. He stayed bent double, trying to get his breath back, and watching the others attempting to pull themselves up the flagpole. He smiled, waiting until the others gave up, and then walked forwards, crouching to the ground and pulling out the pin. He shoved the pillar forwards, and then walked to pick the flag back up from the ground.

He saw Colonel Phillips looking at him, and for the first time there wasn't disgust in his expression. It was something closer to admiration. He turned to Peggy and smiled, and got into the car beside her.

It marked a turning point. He'd shown he was smarter than the rest. He'd shown that maybe he would be capable of doing it. But despite showing he was worthy, he'd also shown that he was a threat. The bullying might have been bad before, but it was terrible now. 

Steve tried to block out the name calling and the hatred. He was used to it. He just thought of his goal, of the chance to be a soldier, and see Bucky, and he didn't let himself worry about what they said or did. He'd make it through anything for this chance.

"Freak." Hodge called out as Steve was pulling on his shirt. Steve turned towards him.  
"What did you call me?"  
"Freak. I mean, I'd known for a while, but you've got some nerve, joining us with those..." He walked over, shoving Steve so that he stumbled backwards. "Did you think we wouldn't notice that you had wings?"  
"Used to have. The prohibition is on those that still have them. Erskine thought I could do it. He had faith in me. He wanted me to do it. And I've got this far." 

Hodge just sneered and turned away.  
"You're not going to stay."  
"We'll see." Steve answered, not rising to the bait but not giving up either.  
"Yeh. I give you a week." Hodge answered.

Steve swallowed and laid down in his bunk, trying not to think about that. They couldn't make things much harder than they already had. He'd get through it. It was worth it.

The next day, he was out on the lawn with the rest, doing press ups. He was falling behind the others, but he kept going. That was his personal rule. He might be slower than the others, worse than the others, but he would still get it done. He would get it done and then he would be okay.

He tried to remember how to breathe. His arms were trembling, and he was just about able to move up and down at about half of the speed with the others. He could see Erskine over with Colonel Phillips. They were watching the whole group, he could tell they were talking about him. They were probably talking about kicking him off the programme. He wondered if Hodge had spoken to the Colonel, before he forced himself to focus on what he was doing. He was going to be working right until the moment they gave up on him.

Something moved in the corner of his vision.  
"Grenade!" The shout cut through the air, and everyone jumped to their feet, trying to put as much space between themselves and the grenade as possible. But Steve ran towards it. He might not be able to ever achieve his dream of being a soldier. But he could give a chance to the rest. He wrapped his body around the explosive, hoping that it would be enough to muffle the blast, and protect the others. He tensed, waiting for the pain.

He was going to be torn apart.  
"Get away! Get back!" He called out, wanting to give the other men the best chance he could. 

The seconds stretched on, and nothing had happened. He slowly untucked himself from the explosive, glancing around in confusion, feeling almost dizzy with it. A moment before, death had seemed inevitable, and he was still breathing. Then his eyes met those of Doctor Erskine, and he saw that the older man was smiling.  
"Is this a test?"

The announcement was made later that day, to disgruntled muttering from the rest. Hodge pushed him after, but Steve was prepared for that. He was going to be the test subject. He would have been lying if he had said that he wasn't afraid. They were going to do something to him. Something with only a very limited history of success. But it was his chance. It was his moment, not just to be a hero, but to be a soldier and do what he had dreamed of since the first and most distant rumours of the war.

That didn't mean he didn't get the jitters. As the procedure got closer, he found himself feeling ill with fear of it. Not because he thought it would go wrong or hurt, but because he was worried that he wouldn't be good enough for it.

He was told it would be taking place the following morning. He was instructed not to eat, so while the others all raced off to dinner, he sat on his cot, his sketchbook open on his lap. He flicked to the old image of Bucky with imagined wings, tracing the shape of them with his fingertips. He could practically feel the heat of Bucky's skin beneath his touch. He would focus on that, and on the memories of what it was like to fly.

He didn't notice Erskine's arrival until the other man cleared his throat from his position on the next cot alone. Steve smiled at him, but the expression was weak, and he felt a little lost.  
"Why... why did you choose me?" He asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

Erskine looked into his eyes, and nodded.  
"That is the most important question..." He told Steve about the war from a perspective he had never even imagined before. The soldier was enthralled by the doctor's story of the Nazis invading their own country, about how he was used by Hitler in order to make super-soldiers.

Here, Erskine's voice had faltered slightly, and Steve had understood the risks. That this had not been a success before, and that it could go wrong again. The only other surviving recipient had suffered for it. Erskine reached out, and rested his hand on Steve's knee.

"With the formula, good becomes great, but bad becomes worse... that was Schmidt's flaw. There was evil inside of him, under the surface, and that was brought forwards..."  
"The wings..." Steve murmured, knowing that a lot of people felt that they were a sign of evil. He didn't want to lose this chance, but he refused to sabotage Erskine's work because of his own selfishness.  
"No. Those are not a sign that you are bad, or that you are good. They are simply what you once had, and have now been taken from you. You will stay good, not because of the wings, but because it is who you are. A strong man who has known power all his life may lose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of compassion."

Steve considered for a moment, trying to decide if he had been insulted.  
"Thanks, I think..."  
"Just promise me that you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man."  
"I promise I will do my best..." Steve answered instantly, and he meant it. He would try and remain who he was, who he had always tried to be, no matter what.

Seemingly satisfied, Erskine poured two glasses of peach schnapps, handing one to Steve.  
"To the little guys."  
Steve brought the glass to his lips, only to be stopped by Erskine.  
"No, you have a procedure tomorrow."

"Then we'll save them until after."  
"I don't have a procedure tomorrow." Erskine pointed out, but there was a fondness in his voice. He drained both glasses, then walked away, leaving Steve sitting in the darkness and contemplating what was to come.


	6. Chapter 6

1943 Age 24  
It hadn't been a success, that was what they told him. Steve's body had transformed beyond all recognition, but they had wanted an army, not an individual.

Even at the most successful moment of his life, he was still a failure. He'd given his blood to them, let them run their tests and do their experiments, in the hopes that it would be enough, but they said it would be years before anything could be done.

His nights were haunted by the fact that Erskine had gone, by the twisted face of the man who had killed him as the cyanide sunk into his blood stream. Then there were the times when he remembered the coffin like box he had been imprisoned in, and the pain of it. He'd been determined, but he had thought he wouldn't survive. He'd made light of it, heard Erskine trying to check on him, but he hadn't had a chance to truly thank the doctor for being concerned for him. It had all been over too fast for that.

It was only once Erskine was gone that Steve was forced to admit to himself that Erskine had been like a father to him, far more than the man his mother had once had, or his own deceased father. The way the man had brushed a finger over his heart, at his last moment... it took all of Steve's strength to stop himself from mourning him. But he had a role to play and he couldn't let him down. Erskine deserved that.

Steve had a new body. He was taller than before, and stronger, and before he had even got used to the size of his new limbs he had been forced to run. He'd worked it out eventually, jumping between cars as though he had been born to do it, and he'd defeated the man who had killed Erskine, but only at the cost of destroying the one remaining tube of the serum.

He'd asked the man who he was, and he'd got an answer he wasn't expecting and didn't know what to do about.  
"The first of many. Cut off one head, two more will take its place. Hail Hydra." That had been a new name to him then, even though now it was becoming familiar. HYDRA was the Nazi deep science division, and they were the men like Erskine on the other side, the very men the doctor had tried to escape from.

He'd spent a couple of weeks sat in medical as test after test was run, and as Peggy tried to reassure him that Erskine's death had not been in vain, that he would have been proud of the result. Steve hoped she was right. Colonel Phillips words echoed in his thoughts in his darkest moments, and wouldn't leave him be.  
"I asked for an army and all I got was you. You're not enough."

He knew it was true. But he didn't want to sit out the war as an experiment. He was happy to submit to any testing that could help but he couldn't stand the waits between each test. So when Senator Brandt offered him an alternative, he had grabbed at it with both hands. There had been no choice in his eyes, nothing else he could do.

He found it humiliating sometimes. But he made himself do it, to stand up in front of cheering audiences, and find himself surrounded by dancing girls. He hated going out some nights, but whenever he felt himself considering giving up, he thought of Bucky, out there in Europe, on the front lines and relying on him. The money that he brought in would mean that Bucky had a better chance. That was what gave him strength. To stand before a crowd and to tell them that every bond they bought was "a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun", and that "every bond you buy will protect someone you love". If it wasn't for Bucky he wasn't sure he would have been able to do it, but Bucky was worth it. Bucky would have been worth everything.

So every night he went out, and he saw comics being sold with his face on them, and movie posters going on about battles he had never fought. He smiled through it, and if it felt like betrayal of his dreams, well it was betrayal for a good reason. He felt like he was in a daze most of the time, but he told himself that it would help. That one day, he'd manage to get out there with Bucky where he belonged, where he could see him again and they would be alright. That was enough to keep him going.

Then Senator Brandt told him that he was shipping off to France in the morning, with the USO girls, and that they would be performing for the troops. It was closer than Steve had thought he would get to actually being out there fighting with them, and he packed his bag eagerly, including a lot of candy for the children abroad. He knew it was in short supply over there, and he liked being able to do small things that would help others. He'd gone with the girls, and looked forwards to finally meeting the troops, the heroes he had dreamed of being among.

He waited in the wings for the girls to finish their song. As they returned, laughing amongst themselves, he walked out and stood on stage, and felt a nervousness in his gut that he hadn't felt since his first night. He looked at the men before them, and saw how hostile their expressions were, how their eyes were weary. He wanted to be here, but they didn't want him. Still, he had to give it his all.  
"How many of you are ready to help me sock Adolph Hitler on the jaw?"

There was indistinct shouting from the crowd, and as Steve stood there with his head down, another shout went up.  
"We want the girls!"  
He swallowed and licked his lips, glancing down at the floor.  
"Well, I think they only know the one song, but I'll see what I can do..."  
The shouting got louder, and Steve hunched his shoulders against it. He was able to make out some of the words, knew that one of them had called him a winged freak. The old scars burned at the insult, but he ignored it. 

"We're all on the same team here men..." He tried to plead, to reason with them, but as fruit bounced off his shield he realised that he was wasting his time. He slipped off stage, letting the girls entertain them, and found a quiet corner where he could curl up with his sketchbook.

This time, he wasn't drawing himself with wings, or images of Bucky's face to help get him through it. He was drawing himself as the useless performing monkey he felt that he was. A shadow fell across him, but he couldn't be bothered to look up until a familiar voice spoke to him.  
"Tough night?"  
"The crowds I'm used to are usually more twelve..." He admitted, feeling ashamed. He remembered what she'd said, that Erskine would have been proud. He felt he was letting him down. She seemed to agree, looking down at him with sadness in her eyes as she told him that he was meant for better.

Steve gave a half-hearted shrug.  
"I finally got everything I wanted and I'm wearing tights..." He admitted. She sat down beside him, and explained who the crowd were, that they were the remains of the 107th.  
Steve stared at her in horror.  
"Steve?"  
"Bucky... my... my best friend." He murmured. "Look, I have to know..."  
He raced out to find the officers, making his way into the tent unannounced. All he could think about at that moment was whether or not Bucky was alive. He had to see him. That was why he had come out. But a cold weight in his heart told him that if Bucky was here, he would have said. He would have stood up in the crowd, would have called out.

Colonel Phillips was there, and he looked at Steve with the same disgust he had when they had first met. Steve didn't care about that though. He just had to know. The Colonel sighed, but eventually admitted that the name sounded familiar, gesturing to the pile of letters he had written to families, and saying that he'd been captured.  
"So are you going to mount a rescue mission?" Steve asked, having to know. He’d volunteer to go with them if they’d take him.  
"We are, it's called winning the war." The Colonel answered. "Anything else would mean that we'd risk more men than we would save. But I don't expect you to understand that, you're a chorus girl."

Steve ignored the jibe. He was used to insults having faced them all his life and all he cared about was ensuring that Bucky was safe. He was already planning. He'd find a way to get out there and help him. He memorised the map as he looked down at the desk, planning to sketch it out once he'd left.  
"Now go, you've got some place to be in thirty minutes."  
"Yes, I do." He turned and walked away, followed by Peggy. She seemed to realise what he was planning.  
"You have to let me go." Steve admitted. "If you ever meant it when you said that I was meant for more than this, you have to let me go."  
"I can do better than that." Peggy smiled at him, and told him to wait for a couple of minutes.

Before he knew it, Steve found himself standing before a plane, and being examined by the very same genius that had helped transform him into what he was. Stark looked him over, frowning a little.  
"And no sign of the wings?"  
"No sir."  
"And no decrease in strength or ability?"  
"No sir." Steve answered, shifting awkwardly. He knew Peggy had been trying to help, but he wished he wasn't there, he felt like he was about to dissected. Then Howard seemed to make up his mind. He nodded, and led Steve and Peggy into his plane. 

Peggy smiled at Steve, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.  
"Stark is the best civilian pilot I've ever seen." She informed him, smiling over at the pilot who smirked back at her. Steve looked away out of politeness, focusing on his own goal. He would get Bucky back. He was sure Bucky would laugh at the fact he had ended up as little more than a performing monkey, doing shows to raise money to buy bullets, but he didn't care. He'd been helping Bucky then, and he was helping him now.

"You be careful out there Rogers. You're the end product of a lot of research, and if you die we're not going to have backup copies."  
Steve felt his hackles rise at the comment, but just kept himself smiling, nodding in thanks as he was handed a small metal box, and told that he could use it to call for help. He examined it in his hand, and nodded cautiously.  
"Are you sure this thing will work?"  
"It's been tested more than you pal!" Stark answered.

Steve tried to find that reassuring. He was grateful for it, but he couldn't help feeling that it was just another piece of expensive Stark Tech for him to keep safe, just like his own body. He didn't have time to say anything about it though, because a moment later there was a loud noise from right outside the plane.  
"What was that?"  
"They're shooting at us, don't worry." 

Steve stared at the pilot in utter disbelief.  
"They are shooting at us..." He saw a parachute, and reached for it, trying to fasten it on with shaking hands. "Soon as I'm clear, you turn this thing around and you get out of here." He demanded. He wouldn't be responsible for their deaths.  
"You can't fly any more idiot. And you can’t give me orders." Stark snapped.  
"Hell I can't, I'm a captain..." He pushed open the landing bay, and ran, jumping.

The air took his breath away. He was falling now, not flying like he had before, and he couldn't breathe deeply for the first time since his procedure. He could see the canopy of trees below him, and they raced towards him as the plane dropped out of sight, becoming smaller every moment. He pulled the chord for the parachute, his body jolting as it opened, slowing him as he fell into the forest below.

He had been tumbled around in his fall, but he knew the rough direction he was going in, having seen the factory both on the map and from the air. He snuck slowly closer, seeing a heavily fortified base ahead. He knew that Bucky was in there. He knew that he couldn't go back. He had to get inside.

Behind him, he heard the rumble of trucks. He ducked out of sight behind a tree, and emerged as the last vehicle rolled past, pulling himself up into the convoy. Two HYDRA soldiers stared at him, and Steve moved quickly, grabbing them and throwing them out of the back. He curled up in the base of the truck, and let it carry him into the base. Once he was through the gates, and the vehicle was stopped, he took a peek over the edge. The only soldier he could see had his back to him. He took his chance, and raced out, away from the area he was in.

He had no idea where he was going. There were no maps, and he'd only seen the building from outside. He just headed in deeper, and hoped that he was making the right choice. He kept his shield close to his chest, ready to defend himself. Luckily, it appeared the masks worn by the HYDRA soldiers blocked their vision somewhat, as none of them seemed to register him. He stayed back, and kept away from anywhere he could hear large crowds or the clank of machinery, trying to find where any prisoners would be held.

He smelt it before he saw it. It smelt like the basement of the orphanage in a way. He’d been locked there as punishment sometimes, and he still held the memories. It had had the same stench of decay and death and filth. It was quiet, and not the same silence that came with emptiness. Instead, it was the silence of people trying not to draw too much attention to themselves, individuals focussing upon their own survival rather than that of others.

He stepped out onto a metal grating, and looked at the room below him. Round cages, only just wide enough for a man to lie in, ran in rows through the space. They were full of men, each containing between six and ten prisoners. The men were dressed in the remains of their uniform, thin, with exhaustion written across their faces. Some of them were shaking or moaning, and others were silent. A guard patrolled on the walkways above, watching them, and each cage was locked. Steve couldn't see Bucky among them, but he had to free them nonetheless.

He watched the guard until he had calculated the pattern of his movements, and then he raced out behind him, grabbing him and knocking him out before he could shout for help. He eased the keys from his belt, and dropped them down to the men in the cell below.  
"Who are you supposed to be?" One of them called up.  
"I'm Captain America..." Steve watched, feeling a sense of pride in his chest as he saw them managing to unlock the door, and pass out the keys so that more of them could get free.

"Does anyone know where Sergeant Barnes is?" He called down.  
There was silence for a few moments, before someone spoke up.  
"Think he got taken to the isolation ward. No one has come back from there..."  
"Where is it?" Steve asked, his voice coming out a little more desperate than he had intended.  
"Along to the left." The soldier answered.  
"Alright. All of you, get out fast and give them hell."  
"You coming with us?"  
Steve shook his head, not looking back as he jogged out in the direction indicated, bringing his shield down on the head of an approaching guard. He'd clear the corridor, giving those who were escaping the best possible chance, and he would maybe find Bucky.

The alternative to finding Bucky did not bear thinking about, so he refused to dwell on it. Instead, he made himself keep moving. He turned the corridor, and saw a large man in a suit scurrying away holding notes. He decided to let him go. His priority was finding Buck, and getting him back. He raced into the room ahead of him. His eyes lingered for a second on a map on the back wall, with flags planted in it, but then he heard a groan from inside, a fevered voice forming half-finished words.

Having come so far, Steve was almost reluctant to face him. If it wasn't him, he didn't think he could handle that. But whoever it was, they needed saving, and after only a fraction of a moment he made himself look towards the figure on the bed.

It was Bucky. That much was clear, instantly. He was thinner than before, bruised, and cut into. They had strapped him down on the bed, and the restraints were too tight, digging into his arms and ankles. Steve moved to unstrap him, hands trembling as he fought with the bindings.

"Bucky, oh my god..." He muttered, peeling away the tight leather, and trying to massage a blood flow back into his fingers and hands.  
"Is that..." The words were blurred. He clearly didn't know what was happening, but he seemed to recognise Steve. Steve wondered if he even knew who he was, if he thought it was real.  
"It's me. It's Steve." He promised, stroking his fingers over Bucky's face for a moment, gentle. Bucky seemed more confused than before, and in shock Steve realised he hadn't seen him since his transformation, if he even knew that someone was there.  
"Steve..." Bucky echoed, his voice shaking with desperation and helpless fear.

"I thought you were dead Buck..." He murmured, trying to help him to his feet. Bucky looked confused.  
"I thought you were smaller." He muttered, and Steve laughed at him a little.  
"I was. But you needed me to get bigger..." He lowered Bucky off the edge of the table, and the soldier's face crinkled in pain as his weight settled on his feet. Steve tried to support him as best as he could.

Bucky's hand reached out to his chest, stroking over it.  
"Did it hurt?"  
Steve thought of the agony of that coffin like box, the needles pumping him full of chemicals he couldn't name, as his body was forced to rewrite himself to their new design. He shook his head.  
"A little." Bucky had suffered enough. He didn't want Bucky to think he wasn't worth it. Given the choice again, Steve would have made exactly the same decisions. Even if it would have hurt hundreds of times worse, he would have done the same. Bucky was worth the world to him.  
"Is it permanent?"  
"So far." Steve answered, considering it. The thought of this fading had not really occurred to him before, but he couldn't say that it mattered now. Not as much as before. He wanted to fight, to serve, but most of all he had wanted to save Bucky. He'd done that. If he had to give his life in exchange for Bucky's, it was a sacrifice he would have made in a moment.

The two of them raced down the corridor, Steve half-carrying Bucky. He considered just lifting him up and running, but he knew Bucky. He knew that Bucky wouldn't have forgiven him for the loss of dignity involved. Bucky wanted to protect Steve, he wouldn’t accept the reverse.

Turning the corner, Steve was hit by a wave of hot air. Glancing ahead he saw a thin metal bridge hanging between two platforms. Beneath it, fire raged, and the man who ran HYDRA was standing in front of them both, sneering.  
"Captain America... I'm a great fan of your films..."

Steve tried to block his words out, and turned his attention to Bucky. Bucky was leaning against a rail, struggling to breathe. He was vulnerable, and he'd always defended Steve from bullies. For years, he had been the strong one, sheltering Steve from blows. This was his turn. He stepped out onto the bridge, running towards the man who was standing before them. 

He raised his hand, punching him, and bringing up his shield to block Schmidt's returning blow. There was a loud crash, and the metal beneath his fist distorted. Steve stared at it in shock, sure that even with his new strength he couldn't cause that much damage. He was trying to work it out when the man before him tore off his face, leaving behind a red skull twisted by hatred. The thing that had once been a man smirked at him, the expression exaggerated by the shape of his face.  
"We have left humanity behind Captain..." With that, the man turned to leave, and behind him the bridge split in two, cutting the major link between the two sides.

Steve glanced around, frantic, and caught sight of a rafter between the two walkways. It didn't look strong, but it was their only chance. Bucky wasn't looking good. He was shaking, and the exhaustion that he had been fighting was winning. Steve knew he had to act fast. The rafter was creaking, and clearly close to giving way. Once it fell, they would be trapped.

"Bucky, you go first. I can hold your hand as you get on, pull you back up if it subsides. I'm not sure it can support my weight, and I need to test it with yours." He explained. Saying this would be his one chance of getting Bucky to safety, which was his priority. Bucky looked up at him, a little disorientated, and then nodded.

Steve led him over the girder, helping him out along it.  
"That's it. Just one foot in front of the other, but go as fast as you can..." Steve called out encouragement, watching as Bucky edged along. The metal beneath his feet made a worrying groan, but it held as he inched ever closer to the far end. Bucky ran the last few steps, throwing himself onto the platform.

As Bucky clattered to the ground, the girder gave way, falling into the flames.

Steve watched it fall, feeling guilt building up in his throat. That jump was far too far, even with his enhancement.  
"I'll find another way round!" He shouted over to Bucky, trying to hide that he was lying. There wasn't another way out, not with the progress of the fire. "Just get out of there."  
"I won't go without you." Bucky answered.

Steve felt dizzy at the words, but he didn't doubt Bucky for a moment. If Bucky was able to watch him as he struggled to escape, he would remain there, and there wasn't time for that. Getting Bucky across the rafter was only the first half of his task. 

He looked down into the fiery pit, and realised that his only chance of getting Bucky out of there was to jump. He'd never make that, but it didn't matter. That wasn't the point. If it was hopeless, Bucky would leave.

He took a few fumbling steps back, and then raced forwards, kicking off with his foot at the last second, and soaring out above the heat. He felt the air rush past him in a way it hadn't since his childhood, and he grinned. It felt good to end like this, in one final flight.

Time seemed to slow, and suddenly he registered how very close he was to the platform. He swung out his arms, and managed to grab one of the metal banisters. He heaved himself up, and fell forwards, panting.

Bucky was there to catch him, his gaze still unfocussed, but a soft smile on his face.  
"You flew Steve..."  
Steve nodded, not wanting to ask too many questions of it. He was willing to just accept what had happened. He guided Bucky from the building, into a yard full of smoke and echoing explosions, keeping him sheltered as they headed towards one of the trucks. Once Bucky was laid down safely, Steve returned to the fray.

It didn't take long to herd up the few soldiers that remained, but it didn't lead to them capturing prisoners. The soldiers were too loyal for that. Still, there was technology and tanks to bring home, and Steve organised that, leading the men in a column back to their base after he had organised what little medical care he could. He looked around and felt a glow of pride. He might have only been a dancing monkey, but he had managed this.

He led the column home, waking Bucky to walk with him the last few steps. There was commotion as they returned to the base, with cheering from the men who had escaped capture. They lined the end of the route, and Steve walked with his head held high, feeling for the first time in his life like a hero.

He patted Bucky's shoulder, grinning at him.  
"You kept them alive Buck. None of them would be there if it wasn't for you." Steve might not have known what had happened, but he knew Bucky. He knew that Bucky would have done anything he could to keep the men alive. It would turn out to be no coincidence that it was Bucky selected for torture, Steve was certain of that. Bucky just grinned at him, and Steve glanced back at the men who were with him. They were a mixed bunch, but they had proved that they were capable of being heroes.

When they arrived, he moved into a parade rest in front of Colonel Philips. The officer was smirking and Steve knew he was doing the same.  
"Some of these men need medical attention." He explained. His mother had been a nurse, but he was not a miracle worker. "Then I would like to surrender myself for disciplinary measures."  
"I don’t think that will be necessary Captain." The Colonel answered.

Steve felt himself relax at that. While he would have taken any punishment they could dream of in exchange for Bucky's safety, it was good to not have that as a concern. He passed over the shattered remains of the transponder to Stark. It had been a good idea, but in the end it had failed where Steve had not.

"Let's hear it for Captain America!" Bucky called out, and cheering roared from the men. Then there were people shaking his hands, and telling him he'd done well, that he'd saved them. He felt overwhelmed by the swell of the crowd, but he kept quiet, thanking everyone and trying to not lose sight of Bucky. 

But for Bucky it was too much. He headed away to rest, leaving Steve to stand alone on centre stage, hearing his exploits exaggerated and transformed into legend while he tried to keep them being honest. He just wanted to be a realist about his actions. Apparently, he was the only one who felt that way.

It felt like hours before the crowd broke up, and he managed to skitter away over to his tent, where Bucky was already waiting, lying in his bed. Bucky grinned at him.  
"So, how's the hero?"  
"You're the hero Bucky. I'm just glad to have you back..." Steve walked over, removing his shirt as he lay down beside him, his eyes closing as Bucky's hands ran over the old scars on his shoulder blades.  
"They told me you heal. But the scars are still there."  
"The scars were there before. They won't be going anywhere..." Steve muttered, helping Bucky to shift so that he was lying over him, his face buried against Steve's throat.

"Good." Bucky squiggled until he was able to look Steve in the eye. "I like them. I like you, and I like them, because they're a part of you. Just like the wings were." His thumbs ran down the twin lines of scarring, making Steve shudder. "I might not be able to fly with you." Bucky murmured. "But we can share this." 

Steve brought his lips up to Bucky's, as his hands moved to rest on Bucky's thighs. This was something that they could share. He'd wondered at points how this would work with his altered size, whether Bucky would still find him attractive. As teasing fingers ghosted down his sides, Steve realised that it would be just as natural, just as familiar, as it always had been. 

He gasped out Bucky's name as sharp teeth nipped at his throat.


	7. Chapter 7

1943 - Age 24  
Steve woke the next morning with Bucky in his arms. He breathed slowly, needing a few moments to reassure himself that this was real. He remembered what had happened in crystal clarity, and shook as he thought of the moment he had run towards the flames. He had faced death before, had men pointing guns at him without fear. But this was different. He'd been expecting to lose, and it had been by his own hand.

He pulled Bucky closer to him. Bucky blinked up at him, pausing and then sighing softly.  
"You couldn't sleep huh?" He groaned. "So you thought I shouldn't be able to sleep either?"  
"Something like that." Steve admitted.  
"Think you'll be ready to go back out?"  
"I'll have to be." Steve answered, and Bucky shook his head in mock despair.  
"What am I going to do with you Rogers?"  
"Well, I've got a few ideas." Steve grinned.  
Bucky laughed at him, prodding him in the shoulder and then moving him away.  
"You are an idiot Steve."  
"I'm your idiot."  
"Yeh." Bucky kissed him for a moment. "You are. But you've got a world to save. Come on. Up."

Steve shook his head.  
"The world has been managing to save itself just fine. I'm just going to do what I can. But I'm not going to be able to do it all."  
"You're going to try though right?" Bucky asked, a cocky smirk across his face. "That's what you've always done."  
"Yeh. I'm going to try..."  
"Good." Bucky answered, squeezing his hand. "I found out you're getting a medal later today, for valour. A reward for saving all those men. You get to give a speech and everything."

Steve shook his head in slight despair, and Bucky looked up at him, eyes wide. He kissed him again.  
"Rogers, you aren't planning on going, are you?"  
"Not a chance." Steve answered. "I have more important things to be doing."  
"Yeh? Like what?"  
"Did you see the map in that room they were holding you in? It showed Hydra bases..."

Going to the Strategic Scientific Reserve headquarters was strange. From the outside, above ground, it was entirely nondescript, barely noticeable. Beneath, it was a maze of tunnels, a labyrinth of knowledge full of the smartest men and women of the age. Steve was fairly sure he was out of his depth, but he could still help.

Howard Stark led him over to a large map in the middle of the table, and Steve placed pins in the rough area of each base in the other map. It wasn't perfectly precise, but it narrowed the whole area of Europe to a small patch of each region.  
"I just got a quick look." He answered, self-depreciating smile on his lips. Bucky laughed and slapped him on the back, then held out his own map.

Bucky had been meant to mark his own memory of the bases, independent of the results that Steve got. He had done that, and the two of them matched almost perfectly. The identical maps were evaluated by the scientists and spies, and Steve wandered away a little, away from the crowd of people. Bucky joined him.  
"They're going to be moving facilities soon. Trying to find the bases, destroy them..."  
"I'll be going with them." Steve answered with conviction. "I've been enhanced. This is what I was meant to do. I'm going to help. I'll ask some of the soldiers that escaped, if they would be interested in coming with me. I trust them at my back." His gaze rested on Bucky's face, but he didn't voice his thoughts.

"Always the hero." Bucky nodded once.  
Steve grinned weakly, his mind full of images of Bucky on that metal table. Bucky was still sore and bruised, and he didn't feel he could ask him to do this. But Bucky was offering, and deep in Steve's heart, he didn't want to do this without him. For as long as he could remember, Bucky had been at his side.  
"You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"

Bucky looked him up and down, thinking through his options. Steve felt his heart fall as Bucky shook his head.  
"Hell no. That little boy from Brooklyn, who was too dumb to run away from a fight, I’m following him."

Steve felt a wave of relief running through him at that. He wasn't going to be alone. His hand reached out to squeeze Bucky's. Bucky's smile grew cheeky.  
"You’re keeping the outfit right.” 

Steve laughed at that. Tension that had filled him for far too long faded away, when faced with Bucky's life and laughter.  
“To be honest, it’s kind of growing on me”  
Bucky's hand reached out to rest on his shoulder, but he froze as behind them someone cleared their throat. He turned to find Stark standing there, looking between them with mild disgust across his face.  
"I've got new trial shields ready, you'd better come and examine them. Whichever is best, you can have..."

Steve got to his feet.  
"Thank you. That sounds wonderful." He tried to look positive, already excited at the thought of getting a defensive weapon that was more resilient than his current stage prop. He started to follow Stark, when he realised he was walking alone. He twisted and looked back over his shoulder, beckoning for Bucky to join him.

Bucky fell into step beside him, as they headed deeper into the confused maze of tunnels. Steve wondered what Howard would have come up with. He was still very fond of his old shield, but he knew that something that was stronger was needed when he would be fighting with it.

He looked over Howard's invention, taking in the spikes and sharp edges on some, the electricity running through others, and felt himself despairing. He wanted to be a soldier, but when he looked at these, all he saw was the capacity they had to make him a bully. He was about to give up on all of them when he noticed a round shield beneath the others. He pulled it out, trying the weight on his arm.

It wasn't heavy. It fitted on his arm like it belonged there, and it was purely defensive. He was sure he would be able to throw it if he needed to, but this wasn't a weapon. He glanced back at Bucky, seeing Bucky's eyes travelling over him as he sized up the shield, then Bucky nodded and Steve felt himself relax. Bucky approved, and that confirmed to him that he had made the right choice.  
"This one."

Howard went to protest, but saw the looks on Steve and Bucky's faces, and nodded his agreement.  
"That one."

Steve was taken to another meeting, as the plan of attack for HYDRA bases was worked out. There were a lot of targets, but intelligence gave some clues as to which bases would be easier to take out. It was decided that they'd start with a difficult (and therefore probably important) one, and then once that was out of the way, it would be simpler to destroy the rest. Steve realised with some relief that he had already helped to destroy the main base.

The next few weeks passed in a blur for Steve, with the one constant being Bucky's presence by his side. They were travelling, always on the move between one base and the next. He led every assault, armed with his new shield, and often riding a motorcycle at the front of the troops. 

Bucky didn't lead assaults, was never in the front squadron. It would have been a waste of his talents. He had Steve's back, hiding out on nearby hills, and sniping, shooting down the enemy. He was perfect at it, a precision shot. Steve paid attention to the reports, and was unsurprised to hear that Bucky was one of the best that the army had. He felt confident charging into an enemy base, as long as he was certain that Bucky was behind him. He knew that the sniper would never let him down.

Wave after wave of the bases fell, and Steve felt like they were beginning to win. They weren't all the way there yet, but it was a start. HYDRA was falling back, and all the time that HYDRA was focussed on its own survival, it wasn't able to present a real threat.

When Colonel Phillips asked to see him, Steve didn't feel too nervous. He thought there was a chance it would be good news, not bad.  
"What is it sir?"  
"We've found out that one of Hydra’s key scientists is going to be on a train that we can intercept. I want you to pick a small squad out of your normal commandoes, and then..." He rolled out a map. "You will be here, and there will be a wire down to this point. If it is timed correctly, you can swing across the wire and board the train, but if you mistime it, you will end up squashed against a mountain side, do you understand?"  
"Yes sir." Steve answered, already trying to pick his squad. He gave a few names, including Bucky. He'd have Bucky with him. This was an important mission, possibly one of the most important missions of the war. It would have been wrong to do it without Bucky at his side.

Colonel Phillips listened to his list, and nodded.  
"They're good men Captain. You take care of them."  
"I will." Steve agreed, saluting and then going to inform the group he was taking with him. Bucky smirked at him.  
"We gonna be sharing a transport there?"  
"Yep." Steve answered, his grin mirroring Bucky's own. "Don't worry, I've already got that sorted. We'll have some privacy. Now, go get packed up."

The back of a transport lorry wasn't the most comfortable place imaginable to lay down and get some rest, let alone to do anything more exhausting. But it was somewhere the two of them could be together. Bucky and Steve took the same time to rest, and Steve lay back amongst the kit bags, grinning up at Bucky and holding out his arms. Bucky ran a hand over his chest.  
"You sure?"  
"Yeh, I'm sure. They don't need to know..." 

"I guess not..." Bucky answered, and Steve kissed him. The truck jolted along, but the two of them ignored that, focussing instead on touching each other, running their hands over their bodies.

Steve unbuttoned Bucky's shirt, leaving a trail of kisses down from his neck to navel, and then running his tongue over Bucky's nipples.  
"You ... you taste amazing like this... I'm so lucky to get the chance to do this..." Bucky's hands rested on his shoulders, guiding him to lean down further, and he undid Bucky's trousers, licking over what was revealed, before a large bump in the road made him miss his target. Bucky laughed, and Steve grinned at him, shrugging off his own uniform.

Bucky guided Steve into his arms, having Steve sit back and wrapping his hand around him, stroking him firmly. Steve looked at him, moaning softly, rocking his hips up into the warmth of Bucky's hand.

Bucky smirked, carrying on for a little longer before he lay down on his back in the truck, beckoning Steve to move over him. He swore, searching through his uniform until he found what he was looking for, holding out the small tube of liquid with a soft mutter of victory. Steve moaned, spreading his legs and straddling Bucky, then crying out a moment later as his fingers sunk inside him.

Steve had enjoyed sex before the procedure, had loved the intimacy it brought, the sense of Bucky filling him. But this was something else. No longer worrying about an asthma attack or similar, he was able to let himself go and really enjoy every moment of it, and when Bucky's fingers ghosted over his prostate he didn't even attempt to hide his cry of pleasure. The noise of the truck would stop them being overheard, and he knew from experience that there was nothing Bucky liked more than seeing him enjoying himself.

As if to prove his point, he could feel the hard length of Bucky's cock pressing against his ass. He rubbed against it, looking down at him hopefully. Bucky laughed, but his fingers withdrew, and instead they rested on Steve's hips, guiding him into position so that he was able to rock down against him. Steve shivered in relief as he began to move, riding him slowly. Bucky felt incredible inside him, and he could see the ecstasy written across his lover's face, knew that he wasn't the only one who was enjoying this. 

"Bucky..." He gasped, speeding up as he took his love fully inside him, before rocking back up and moving down once more, moaning as he continued. It felt amazing, perfect. He could feel the pleasure building inside his stomach, gasping out at the sensation. Bucky's fingers wrapped around him, squeezing him, and he felt himself getting close.

"Bucky!" He cried out again, climax overwhelming him as he felt Bucky filling him. Bucky grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped Steve clean, holding him close and rocking him gently, as his lips found Steve's again and again. Steve smiled back at him, kissing him once more. 

"Love you." He murmured, as he curled up beside Bucky, guiding him so that his head rested on Steve's chest.  
"I know that Steve. I love you too..." He replied, and Steve ran his fingers through Bucky's hair until he drifted off to sleep.

Steve woke to find that Bucky was in his arms once more. He buried his face forwards into the warmth of his hair, breathing in his scent. It felt like home. Bucky yawned, and cuddled up tighter to him, as the transport they were in juddered to a stop.

The Captain knew that their team probably understood why they were sharing a tent most nights, why they travelled together in the back of a van. But none of them had called the two of them out on it. It gave Steve hope for the future, to think that maybe he and Bucky wouldn't always have to hide.

Their relationship might not have been accepted, but like with the wings, people were willing to turn a blind eye, and Steve could live with that. He just wanted to be with Bucky, and wasn't so bothered by the attitudes others had. As long as they didn't stop him, he could cope with it.

He glanced at his watch, relieved to see that they had time for this. They could get into position to board the train, and end this madness.  
"Come on Bucky, time for you to get up."  
"I'm getting..." Bucky murmured, groaning and burying back closer to Steve. Steve's hand ran down over his shoulder, stroking his back.  
"No you aren't. You aren't getting, and you have to get." Steve answered, prodding his shoulder. Bucky muttered, and Steve kissed him softly. Bucky rolled over a little, stretching as he returned to consciousness.  
"It's cold Steve."  
"I know Bucky. That would be all the snow..." 

Stretching, Bucky pulled his shirt back on, and kissed Steve deeply. "We'll see if there's any food available...."  
"There will be food." Steve answered. "They know better than to leave you without it..."

Steve slipped out of the vehicle, going to talk to his men, his thoughts drifting back to Bucky. He would draw a picture of Bucky sleeping when he got the opportunity to. It was a beautiful image, and always melted his heart. 

He glanced up at the mountain ahead of them, ensuring everyone had enough to eat. When that was sorted, he returned to Bucky, sitting down beside him to have his breakfast. His foot brushed against Steve's own.  
"Not far now?"  
"A couple of hours in the jeep, the last section on foot." Steve answered, and they fell into companionable silence as they ate.

When the food was finished, Steve turned around and kissed Bucky gently.  
"I love you Bucky."  
"I know. I love you too. Now go and get ready, and be a good Captain, we've got a long way to go..."

Steve kissed his cheek once more, then walked away to sort everything out, beginning the long journey up to the ridge. He put everything but the mission from his mind. The twin scars on his back seemed to burn slightly, but he pushed those thoughts away. It wasn't important, but the mission was.

Bucky glanced over at Steve, a little pale as he glanced down the valley before them. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot a little, his gaze fixed blankly on the rail below them.  
"Hey, you remember the day you made me ride the cyclone on Coney Island?" 

Steve remembered. He'd been terrified and sick, but he'd gone ahead with Bucky so that his best friend wasn't going to be alone. He didn't regret it, even if he had been left struggling to breathe at the end of it.  
"Yeh?"

"Is this payback?" Bucky asked, grinning, trying not to show how concerned he was.  
"I don't know why you'd think that." Steve's own face was split with a grin, which fell into seriousness as he caught sight of the train in the distance. He reached back and squeezed Bucky's hand once, sure that no matter what, he could never love anyone as much as he loved Bucky at that moment.

One of the Commandos confirmed that the doctor was aboard. Steve knew how this worked. There was a ten second window for them to move. If they missed, there'd be no coming back. A fall from this height would be fatal. But when the call came to move out, Steve didn't hesitate.

He swung the chain up over the wire, and launched himself off into the air, hearing Bucky's movements echoing Steve's own. The air soared past him, and his breath was stolen away. But as he swung through the air, he tilted his head back. He smiled, able to see an end to this war, as he hurtled down to help end it. His clothes were ruffled by the breeze, and behind him he could hear Bucky whooping in joy.

It felt almost like flying.

**Author's Note:**

> Amazing art for this fic done by Sconee, found at: http://sconee.tumblr.com/post/70093498410.


End file.
